EXCHANGE 


CAP  AND  GOWN   IN  PROSE 


The  Cap  and  Gown  Series 

£ 

Cap  and  Gown  in  Prose 

Cap  and  Gown     First  Series 

Cap  and  Gown     Second  Series 

The   Golden    Treasury   of   American 

Songs  and  Lyrics 
Poems  of  American  Patriotism 
My  Lady  Sleeps 
Songs  Ysame 
Out  of  the  Heart 

Poems  of  American  Wit  and  Humor 
Pipe  and  Pouch 
Through  Love  to  Light 
The  Two  Voices 
From  Queens'  Gardens 
Hymns  of  the  Higher  Life 
£ 

L»  C  PAGE  AND  COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 

2J2  Summer  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


^ 


CAP    AND    GOWN 

IN    PROSE 


Sfjort  5kctd)rs  ScUctcti  from 

of  &ccrnt  gears 


EDITED  BY 

R.    L.    PAGET 

EDITOR  OF   "  POEMS  OF  AMERICAN  PATRIOTISM," 

"THE    POETRY   OF   AMERICAN    WIT 

AND    HUMOR,"    ETC. 


iWf 


BOSTON 
L.   C.   PAGE    &    COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
MDCCCC 


Copyright,  igoo 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


Colonial  Press 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


PREFACE. 

THE  editor  of  "  Cap  and  Gown  Second  Series  " 
reminded  his  readers,  it  will  be  remembered,  that 
college  verse  must  not  be  taken  too  seriously. 
The  same  thing  may  of  course  be  said  of  college 
prose.  But  in  the  latter  case  there  is  small  need 
of  such  warning ;  only  the  Sophomore  and  his 
admiring  sisters  will  regard  with  any  degree  of 
awe  the  "fortnightly  theme"  on  "George  Eliot 
as  an  Ethical  Guide,"  or  "  The  Classical  Spirit  in 
Arnold's  Poetry,"  or  will  be  fired  with  enthu 
siasm  for  the  society  story  and  the  tale  of  ad 
venture  adorning  the  pages  of  the  "  Lit."  Prose, 
as  ordinarily  written,  lacks  those  double  advan 
tages  of  verse,  jingle  and  brevity.  It  is  either 
good  or  fatally  dull. 

Here  is  the  difficulty  which  the  editor  of  the 
present  volume,  who  wished  above  all  that  his 
book  might  be  entertaining,  faced  at  the  outset. 
How  should  he  overcome  the  prejudice  excited 
in  advance  by  the  word  "  prose  "? 


3S75S9 


VI  PREFACE 

In  the  first  place,  it  was  plain  that  the  selec 
tions  should  be  short.  Moreover,  they  should, 
so  far  as  possible,  be  concerned  with  scenes 
drawn  from  actual  life.  Finally,  the  point  of 
view  should  be  that  of  youth. 

If  this  aim  has  been  carried  out  with  even 
approximate  success,  these  sketches  are  not 
without  elements  of  unique  value.  Life  as  it 
now  appears  to  the  philosopher  he  can  describe 
for  us,  but  life  as  it  appeared  to  him  in  youth  he 
can  hardly  trust  himself  to  picture.  That  this 
little  book  is  representative  of  the  best  prose 
composition  of  American  colleges  its  editor 
would  hesitate  to  assert.  Nor  does  he  claim  for 
the  compilation  that  it  represents  the  relative 
merit  of  the  English  departments  in  various 
colleges.  It  aims  to  entertain ;  to  suggest  the 
college  atmosphere  and  the  college  point  of 
view  ;  to  remind  the  graybeard  of  the  days  when 
campus,  gridiron,  diamond,  track,  "  Prom,"  and 
grind  were  words  which  stood  for  things  that 
made  up  a  large  part  of  his  real  world ;  and, 
finally,  to  show  how  near  in  some  instances  the 
natural  portrayal  of  simple  things  in  the  fewest 
words  may  approach  originality. 

It  has  proved  unavoidable  that  some  colleges 


PREFACE  Vll 

are  much  more  fully  represented  than  others. 
Certain  undergraduate  papers  seldom  publish 
short  prose  contributions.  A  number  of  college 
periodicals,  which  have  only  one  or  two  selec 
tions  to  their  credit,  might  stand  among  the 
most  prominent  in  the  book  if  the  ability  they 
expend  on  long  descriptions  were  turned  in  the 
direction  of  "kodak  shots."  The  colleges  whose 
English  departments  make  the  most  of  daily 
theme  courses  are  naturally  much  in  evidence 
in  a  compilation  of  this  character. 

In  some  cases  papers  are  not  represented,  or 
are  represented  by  fewer  selections  than  might 
be  desirable,  because  complete  files  had  not  been 
kept  or  were  unattainable. 

It  is  possible  that  some  readers  will  discover 
the  "  college  man  "  of  their  fancy  to  be  an  idol 
of  clay.  The  editor  can  reply  only  that  he  has 
given  a  picture  of  the  student  photographed  by 
the  student  himself.  His  excuse  is  the  truth 
of  the  portrait.  The  typical  undergraduate  is 
addicted  neither  to  vice  nor  to  virtue.  He  is  no 
longer  a  child,  but  he  is  certainly  boy  all  over. 
Merry  and  light-hearted  rather  than  flippant, 
frequently  an  encyclopedia  of  slang,  always  fond 
of  playing  jokes  on  his  comrades  and  sometimes 


Vlll  PREFACE 

of  outwitting  his  professors,  his  whole  creed 
honour  (which  he  insists  on  defining  himself), 
—  he  is  after  all  very  lovable  and  unspoiled.  To 
object  to  him  is  to  find  fault  with  human 
nature. 

The  compiler  returns  hearty  thanks  to  the 
editors  and  business  managers  of  the  different 
papers  for  their  numerous  courtesies.  With 
out  their  generous  cooperation  the  book  would 
have  been  impossible.  He  would  also  thank  Mr. 
F.  W.  C.  Hersey,  of  Cambridge,  Mass.,  Mr.  B. 
S.  Monroe,  of  Romulus,  N.  Y.,  and  the  Libra 
rian  of  the  Dartmouth  College  Library  for  the 
loan  of  files  of  college  magazines  in  their  pos 
session. 

BOSTON,  MASS.,  MAY  i,  1900. 


COLLEGE   PAPERS   REPRESENTED. 


AMHERST  COLLEGE  .  .  . 
BALTIMORE,  WOMAN'S 

COLLEGE  OF 

BOWDOIN  COLLEGE  .  .  . 
BROWN  UNIVERSITY  .  . 
BRYN  MAWR  COLLEGE  . 
CHICAGO  UNIVERSITY  .  . 
COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  . 


CORNELL  UNIVERSITY  .     . 

DARTMOUTH  COLLEGE.     . 

HAMILTON  COLLEGE     .    . 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY     . 

LELAND  STANFORD  UNI 
VERSITY  

MASS.  INSTITUTE  OF  TECH 
NOLOGY  

MICHIGAN  UNIVERSITY     . 

MOUNT  HOLYOKE  COL 
LEGE  


Amherst  Literary  Monthly. 

Kalends. 

Bowdoin  Quill. 

Brunonian. 

Bryn  Maivr  Lantern. 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

Columbia  Literary  Monthly. 

Columbia  Spectator. 

The  Morningside. 

Cornell  Magazine. 

Cornell  Widow. 

Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly. 

Hamilton  Literary  Magazine. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Sequoia. 

Tech. 

Wrinkle. 

The  Mount  Holyoke. 
ix 


COLLEGE  PAPERS  REPRESENTED 


PENNSYLVANIA,    UNIVER 
SITY  OF    ...... 

PRINCETON  UNIVERSITY  . 

RADCLIFFE  COLLEGE    .    . 

SMITH  COLLEGE  .... 

TRINITY  COLLEGE    .    .    . 

TUFTS  COLLEGE  .     .  ...    . 

VASSAR  COLLEGE     .    .    . 

WELLESLEY  COLLEGE  .    . 

WELLS  COLLEGE.     .     .     . 

WESLEYAN  UNIVERSITY   . 

WESTERN  RESERVE  UNI 
VERSITY  

WILLIAMS  COLLEGE     .     . 

WISCONSIN,  UNIVERSITY 
OF 

YALE  UNIVERSITY   .    .    . 


Red  and  Blue. 

Nassau  Literary  Monthly. 
Princeton  Tiger. 
Radcliffe  Magazine. 
Smith  College  Monthly. 
Trinity  Tablet. 
Tuftonian. 
Vassar  Miscellany. 
Wellesley  Magazine. 
Wells  College  Chronicle. 
Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly. 

College  Folio. 

Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

Wisconsin  ^Egis. 

Yale  Courant. 

Yale  Literary  Magazine. 


CONTENTS. 


After  Sunday  Comes  Monday  . 

.     Vassar  Miscellany     . 
.     Vassar  Miscellany 

PAGE 
214 
,       123 

Alpha  and  Omega     . 
Arcady  Farewell! 
As  It  Was  in  the  Beginning     . 

.     Morningside        . 
.     Yale  Literary  Magazine  . 
.     Cornell  Magazine 
.     University  of  Chicago  Weekly 

•       57 
.     104 
.     205 
61 

At  Mott  Haven 

.     Ha-niard  A  dvocate 

•     139 
.     127 

.     Wrinkle 

4 

Augury  of  the  Birds,  The         .        .  Yale  Courant      .  .    200 

Bane  and  Antidote    ....  Wisconsin  Mgis         .        .        .224 

Bareain  A          •  Williams  Literary  Monthly     .     263 

Believer  in  Class  Spirit,  A        .         .  Trinity  Tablet    .        .         .         .35 

Cambridge  Episode,  A     ...  Harvard  A  dvocate    .         .         .208 

Cat  the  Queen  Stroked,  The    .        .  Yale  Literary  Magazine  .         .158 

Chance  Acquaintance,  A  .        .        .  Tech 41 

Chapel        ......  Bryn  Mavjr  Lantern         .         •     262 

Child  Sketches Harvard  Advocate    .        .  17 

Choice,  A.     Part  One        .         .         •  Princeton  Tiger         ...       20 

Choice,  A.     Part  Two       .         .         .  Princeton  Tiger         ...       23 

Chronicle  of  the  Exam     .        .        .  University  of  Chicago  Weekly.     199 

Christmas  Dream,  A         ...  Princeton  Tiger         .        .        .291 

Cigarette,  A Cornell  Magazine       .         .         .     1 1 1 

Class  Day  Convert,  A       ...  Harvard  A  dvocate    .         .         .     iQ3 

Clever  Miss  Vandeveer,  The    .        .  Hamilton  Literary  Magazine  .     180 

Cold  Bluff,  A A  mherst  Literary  Monthly      .     101 

College  Revery,  A    ....  University  of  Chicago  Weekly      233 

Comedy,  A Columbia  Spectator    .        .        .265 

xi 


Xll  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Complete  Athlete,  The  .  .  .  Yale  Courant  .  94 

Contentment Wells  College  Chronicle  .  .  183 

Conversation,  A  ....  A  mherst  Literary  Monthly  .  217 

Conversion  of  Fredericks,  The  .  Harvard  A  dvocate  .  .  .227 

Corn-cob  Pipe,  A  ....  Wisconsin  sEgis  .  .  .195 

Cousin  John Red  and  Blue  ....  80 

Dangerous  Room-mate,  A  .  .  Harvard  Advocate  .  .  .150 

Dead  Broke Harvard  Advocate  .  .  .151 

Decision  of  a  Moment,  The  .  .  Morningside  .  .  .  .  28i 

Divine  Aid Yale  Courant  .  ...  53 

Dream  of  Fair  Women,  A  .  .  Wesley  an  Literary  Monthly  .  48 

Duets  •  ••  •  •  .  »  Williams  Literary  Monthly  .  261 

Economy University  of  Chicago  Weekly.  71 

Exhibits  in  a  Trial  of  Hearts  .  .  Wrinkle 105 

Fable Williams  Literary  Monthly  .  103 

Fable  of  the  Two  Men  and  the 

Pomegranate  ....  Princeton  Tiger  .  .  .133 

Filibustering  Father,  A  ...  Columbia  Literary  Monthly  .  258 
First  Conversation:  Across  the 

Fence Yale  Literary  Magazine  .  .  62 

First  Time,  The  ....  Harvard  A  dvocate  ...  67 

Fortunate  Foursome,  A  .  .  .  Yale  Coitrant  .  .  .  .168 

Founded  on  Fact  ....  Williams  Literary  Monthly  .  278 

Freshman  Enters  the  Debate,  The  .  Wrinkle no 

Freshman's  Ideal,  The  .  .  .  Wesley  an  Literary  Monthly  .  231 

From  a  College  Man's  Journal  .  Tuftonian 11 

From  the  Heights  ....  College  Folio  ....  270 

Girl  Correspondents ,  .  .  .  A  mherst  Literary  Monthly  .  285 

Girl  in  Blue,  The  ....  Harvard  Advocate  .  .  .13 

Glimpses Radcliffe  Magazine  .  .  .289 

Golf  and  a  Bracelet  ....  Brunonian 172 

Hazing  of  Sammy,  The  .  .  .  Smith  College  Monthly  .  .  147 

Her  Key University  of  Chicago  Weekly  .  247 

Her  Moral  Downfall  .  .  .  Red  and  Blue  ....  44 

His  First  Race University  of  Chicago  Weekly.  74 

His  Last  Appeal  ....  Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly  .  220 

How  I  Recovered  ....  Harvard  A  dvocate  .  .  .258 

In  June Brunonian 178 

In  Perspective Harvard  A  dvocate  ...  29 

In  the  Afternoon  Car  .  .  .  Bryn  Maivr  Lantern  .  .  72 

In  the  Car University  of  Chicago  Weekly .  204 

In  the  Reading-room  .  .  .  Harvard  Advocate  .  .  .251 


CONTENTS  Xlll 

PAGE 

In  the  Shell Harvard  A  dvocate  ...        7 

Inklings The  Mount  Holyoke  .         .         .156 

Jeems  Miller's  Coortin'    .        .        .  Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly     .      85 

Johnny The  Mount  Holyoke  ...       65 

Letter  Home,  A         ....  Amherst  Literary  Monthly      .       92 

Little  Tommy  Atkins        .        .        .  Wellesley  Magazine  .        .        .237 

Love  of  Lop- Ear      ....     Sequoia 253 

Lunches College  Folio       ....    246 

Magazine  Story,  A    ....  Vassar  Miscellany     ...      50 

Man  from  Yale,  The         .        .        .     Tech 144 

Metamorphosis University  of  Chicago  Weekly.     141 

My  First  Boat-race   ....  Morningside        ....       69 

My  Freshman Smith  College  Monthly      .        .    275 

My  Old  Room Harvard  Advocate    .        .         .185 

New  Term,  The        ....    Kalends I52 

Observations Princeton  Tiger         ...      88 

Of  Passing  Moment  ....  Harvard  A  dvocate    ...      97 

Old  Man Nassau  Literary  Monthly         .     117 

On  a  High  Stool        ....  Harvard  A  dvocate    .        .         .236 

"On  Linden" Morningside        ....         8 

Overheard— In  Arcady?.        .        .  Harvard  Advocate   .        .        .132 

Philosophy  at  Twenty-one        .         .  University  of  Chicago  Weekly  .     177 

Poor  Little  Reginald         .         .         .  Williams  Literary  Monthly     .     243 

Postmaster's  Story,  The   .        .        .  Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly     .    222 

Progress  of  the  Crews       .        .        .  Cornell  Widow  .        .        .        .161 

Proprieties,  The        .         •         •         •  A  mherst  Literary  Monthly       .     107 

Queen   A  .                           .  Amherst  Literary  Monthly      .     137 

Ready         ......  Harvard  Advocate                               i 

Reminiscence,  A        ....  Cornell  Magazine       ...         2 

Scene:  Dinner, etc University  of 'Chicago  Weekly .    212 

Scene  on  a  Kansas  Ranch        .        .  Wells  College  Chronicle    .        .150 

Seen  from  the  Road  ....  Wesleyan  Literary  Monthly    .    252 

Sentinel  and  a  Substitute,  A     .         .  Red  and  Blue      ....     190 

Shooting  of  Barrows,  Freshman,  The  Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly  .     122 

Short  Conversation,  A       .         .         .  Harvard  Advocate    .        .         •     "5 

Smoker,  The Yale  Literary  Magazine  .        .164 

Stray  Sympathy,  A    ....  Wellesley  Magazine  .        .        -274 

Sweet  is  True  Love  ....     Sequoia 166 

Swimming  Race,  A    .        .         .         .  University  of  Chicago  Weekly .       58 

That  Babington  Affair      .         .         .  Williams  Literary  Monthly     .      88 

Those  Teas  and  Things  .        .        .  A  mJterst  L  iterary  Monthly      .       14 

Three Cornell  Magazine       ...      3° 


XIV  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Three  O'clock,  A.  M.        .        .        .  Bowdoin  Quill    .        .        .        .239 

Told  by  the  Doctor  ....     Tech 129 

Two  and  Two Morningside       ....     142 

Two  Dear  Old  Ladies       .        „        .  Wesley  an  Literary  Monthly     .     187 

Two  Yards  to  Gain   ....  Harvard  A  dvocate   ...      40 

Unavailable Yale  Courant     .        .        .         .134 

Un  Chant  D' Amour .        .        .        .  University  of  Chicago  Weekly.     182 

Uncle  Bill's  Opinions       .        .        .  Princeton  Tiger         .        .        .235 

Unexpected,  The       ....     Brunonian 39 

University  5       ,        ...        .        .  Harvard  Advocate    .        -        -175 

Unplayed  Trump,  An        .        .        .  Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly  .      26 

Very  Young  Man,  A          ...  Wrinkle      .       ...        . '       .         .       43 

Ways  of  Woman,  The       .        .        .  Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly  .    272 

World's  End,  The     ....  Wellesley  Magazine  .        .        .163 

Yule-tide  Happening,  A  .        .        .  Harvard  A  dvocate    ...      78 


CAP  AND   GOWN    IN   PROSE 


Ready. 

"  I  SHALL  say,  '  Are  you  ready  ? '  once ;  and 
then,  if   I   hear  no  reply,    I   shall   say,  '  Go.' ' 
The  referee's  voice    sounds  hollow  and  harsh 
through  the  megaphone. 

I  take  one  last  glance  over  my  shoulder  at 
the  other  crews.  They  are  both  set,  vindictive, 
and  strong,  coiled  beautifully  with  power  to 
spring.  The  challenge  of  their  attitude  sets 
my  teeth,  and  as  I  turn  my  blade  square  and 
deep  in  the  water,  and  feel  it  snug  against  the 
thole-pin,  with  a  tight  grip  of  both  hands  for 
the  wrench,  the  intolerable  and  consuming  ner 
vousness  of  the  past  hours  goes  from  me.  I  am 
conscious  only  of  a  tingling  in  my  temples,  and 


2  CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

the  sense  of  a  great  clearness  somewhere  above 
and  before  my  eyes. 

Then  like  the  voice  of  Fate,  — 

"  Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  ?  "  — 

I  know  nothing  but  the  nape  of  4's  neck. 

-Go!" 

Harvard  Advocate. 

A  Reminiscence* 

«YALE!" 

He  was  down  at  the  start  of  the  hundred 
yards,  and  his  cry  came  with  the  crack  of  the 
pistol  that  started  the  four  men  down  the  cinder 
track  toward  the  crowd  with  the  hole  in  it  at  the 
finish.  He  had  no  business  there.  The  Execu 
tive  Committee  had  expressly  forbidden  any 
such  thing  as  coaching,  and  yet  he  was  there, 
—  he  always  is  there,  —  and  his  shout  had 
scarcely  less  of  command,  scarcely  less  of  thrill 
ing  demand  in  it  than  the  pistol-shot  itself. 

It  was  a  small  thing,  but,  as  the  crowd  pre 
pared  to  swallow  up  the  bare-legged  runners, 
and  the  man  who  had  shouted  grew  ridiculously 
excited,  the  lone  Cornellian  who  had  been  stand 
ing  by  turned  away  to  saunter  off  across  the 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  3 

Oval  with  that  stirring  "  Yale!"  in  his  ears,  and 
doing  a  deal  of  thinking  meanwhile.  How  that 
boy  must  have  felt !  How  he  must  have  heard 
it  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  felt  it  throbbing 
through  his  brain  after  all  else  was  gone,  in  the 
dreadful  weariness  that  was  crowding  on  his 
breast  !  Perhaps  his  mother  was  over  in  the 
grand  stand,  and  some  one  with  her  who  could 
point  him  out ;  perhaps  it  was  a  big  brother  who 
had  taken  him  by  the  shoulders  that  morning, 
had  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  had  said  something 
beginning,  "  Jack,  old  man,"  that  had  made  him 
feel  older  all  of  a  sudden,  —  had  made  him  know 
that  "brother"  might  mean  more  than  he  had 
ever  felt  before  ;  perhaps  Somebody  Else  was 
there  who  had  given  him  just  a  glance  that  had 
not  made  him  think  anything  about  sisters. 
Perhaps,  but  who  can  imagine  what  is  in  a  boy's 
head  ?  Whatever  it  was,  it  was  all  gone  long 
before  he  had  reached  the  press-stands ;  his 
heart  was  pumping  "Yale!  "into  his  reeling 
brain.  He  will  go  faster.  There  is  a  great 
"  Must !  "  upon  him.  Faster  !  Faster  !  Ah-h-h  ! 
And  the  man  that  caught  him  as  his  breast 
broke  the  string  heard  him  gasp,  "  Yale  !  " 
Well,  he  was  a  very  foolish  boy,  of  course, 


4  CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

and  his  mother  and  his  father  and  the  rest 
ought  to  have  been  ashamed  to  be  proud  of 
him ;  but  that  is  not  what  was  in  the  Cornel- 
Han's  mind,  as  the  shouts  of  the  crowd  struck 
back  from  the  green  hillside.  His  heart  had 
gone  back  to  Ithaca.  He  practised  it  over 
softly  to  himself,  "  Cornell ! "  And  he  tried 
again  and  again  to  fancy  it  blending  with  a  pistol- 
shot  and  transforming  a  bare-headed  boy  in 
white  into  a  fierce,  panting  bit  of  the  university. 

E.  P.  ANDREWS. 
Cornell  Magazine. 

At  the  Game. 

Dora:  Jack,  is  it  the  interference  when  the 
umpire  interferes  with  the  game,  and  makes 
them  stop  to  catch  their  breath  ? 

Jack:  No,  Dora,  it's  — 

Dora:  Oh,  there  they  go  again.  That  man 
with  the  red  hair  has  got  the  goal,  and  is  run 
ning  with  it  for  all  he's  worth.  There,  they've 
got  him  down,  and  they've  all  touched  him. 
Now  is  he  a  touchdown,  dear  ? 

Jack  (with  emphasis)  :  Oh,  no,  you  girls  — 

Dora :  There,  Jack,  see,  wasn't  that  pretty  ? 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  5 

The  man  with  an  M  on  his  perspirationer  kicked 
the  goal  over  that  long  pole  between  those 
sticks.  Does  he  kick  it  half  way  from  there, 
and  do  they  call  that  then  the  half  back, 
Jack  ? 

Jack:  Oh  my,  Dora,  do  keep  still,  there  is 
Miss  Hardy,  of  the  Vassar  eleven,  in  the 
next  coach.  I'm  so  afraid  she'll  hear  you, 
and  — 

Dora :  Why,  Jack  !  What  if  she  should  ?  Is 
she  a  Vassar  player,  really,  Jack  ?  She'll  have 
her  hair  all  ready  long,  won't  she  ?  I  think  I'll 
organise  a  society  for  playing  football.  Could  I, 
do  you  suppose  ? 

Jack  (dolefully)  :  No  doubt  of  it,  Dora. 

A  few  minutes'  pause. 

Dora  /Is  the  captain  that  man  in  the  Fedora 
hat,  who  runs  with  a  cane  every  time  they 
tackle  ? 

Jack :  No,  he's  the  umpire,  dear. 

Dora :  Are  you  sure,  Jack  ?  And  the  man 
with  the  stick  of  wood,  is  he  keeping  the  score 
with  notches  ? 

Jack:  Oh,  Dora- 

Dora  (rapturously)  :  There  they  go  again. 
Oh,  see  there,  there's  that  funny  little  duck 


6  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

who  falls  down  first  every  time,  the  one  who 
takes  the  football  from  the  big  fat  man  —  what's 
he,  Jack  ? 

Jack  (in  desperation) :  The  official  timekeeper, 
dear. 

Dora :  Isn't  it  lovely  to  come  to  the  game, 
Jack  ?  It's  all  so  exciting,  and  when  you've 
read  up  and  know  the  plays,  it  makes  it  twice  as 
interesting,  doesn't  it,  you  old  enthusiast  ?  And 
I  did  it  all  for  you,  too. 

Jack :  So  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure,  Dora. 

Dora  (after  the  home  team  failed  to  kick 
goal)  :  Ha,  ha,  did  you  see  that,  Jack  ?  Why 
didn't  they  all  go  for  him  when  he  kicked  the 
ball  ?  So  stupid,  everybody  seemed  to  be  petri 
fied,  and  not  one  made  a  move. 

Jack:  Oh,  Dora,  you  never  — 

Dora:  Won't  I,  Jack?  I  don't  care,  I  just 
came  to  please  you,  and  now  you  don't  seem  to 
appreciate  what  a  martyr  I  am. 

Jack :  Nor  you  what  a  martyr  I  am. 

Then  there  was  another  long  pause,  and  dur 
ing  it  Dora's  lip  trembled  once.  But,  finally, 
the  woman's  old  inquisitiveness  came  back  to 
her,  and  she  touched  Jack's  elbow. 

"  Jack,  just  one  more  please,  and  then  I'll  not 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  7 

say  another  thing.     What  does  the  M  stand  for, 
Michigan  or  Minnesota  ?  " 

And  Jack  just  caught  himself  in  time  not  to 
say,  "  Mephistopheles." 

GEORGE  RUSSELL  BARKER. 

Wrinkle. 

In  the  Shell. 

FOR  two  hours  we  had  sat  in  our  shell  in  the 
midst  of  the  rain.  The  swift-blown  mist  had 
soaked  gradually  through  our  sweaters,  which 
hung  on  our  shoulders  like  heavy  bags.  From 
my  place  at  bow,  I  could  see  the  water  run  in 
big,  round  drops  down  the  back  hair  of  Number 
2,  and,  gathering  on  the  ends  of  it  and  on  the 
lobes  of  his  ears,  drip  slowly  on  to  his  shoulders. 
Even  the  oar  handles  were  so  wet  that  I  rubbed 
my  hand  now  and  then  down  my  wet  sweater. 
We  had  quite  got  beyond  the  civilised  wish  for 
dryness.  As  we  heaved  back  and  forth,  steam 
ing  and  warm,  we  felt  all  the  indifference  to  the 
rain  of  an  out-door  animal. 

Harvard  Advocate. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


"On  Linden." 

"  THE  only  connection  I  ever  had  with  oratory 
in  my  college  career,"  said  Ned  Jeffries,  Colum 
bia  '78,  to  a  group  of  graduates  at  the  Chicago 
debate,  "was  through  a  course  in  declamation 
in  my  Freshman  year.  I  came  nearer  to  flunk 
ing  that  course  than  any  course  I  ever  took  in 
college,  and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  Phil  Harkness,  I  should  have 
flunked  it.  Each  man  was  supposed  to  recite 
some  piece  or  other  four  times  a  term.  Some 
thing  had  prevented  my  preparing  anything  the 
first  time  that  I  ought  to  have  spoken,  and  Ben 
son,  who  was  giving  the  course,  recorded  a  flat 
failure  for  me. 

"  The  next  time  I  did  not  remember  that  I 
had  to  speak  until  I  got  into  the  room,  when  it 
was  too  late  to  prepare  anything.  To  flunk  that 
time  meant  a  sure  flunk  at  the  end  of  the  term. 
I  had  to  say  something.  I  thought  of  'The 
Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,'  '  Cannon  to  right 
of  them,  cannon  to  left  of  them,  something  and 
thundered.'  I  eouldn't  remember  the  rest.  I 
had  an  idea  that  the  '  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus ' 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  9 

might  do,  and  asked  Phil  if  that  wasn't  the  one 
where  the  captain  '  staggered  down  the  stair.' 
Phil  wasn't  sure,  but  thought  not.  He  suggested 
'  On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low,'  but  some 
one  had  spoken  that  every  time,  and,  anyway,  I 
only  knew  the  first  verse.  Phil  thought  awhile, 
then  he  started  suddenly. 

"  '  I've  got  it,'  he  said.  '  You  go  ahead  with 
"  On  Linden." 

" '  But  I  only  know  the  first  verse,'  I  ob 
jected. 

"  '  I'll  see  that  you  don't  need  any  more,'  said 
Phil. 

"  <  But  how  — ' 

"  '  Never  mind.  You  get  up  there  and  speak 
your  first  verse.' 

"  Phil  wrote  something  on  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  passed  it  to  the  man  next  to  him.  The 
latter  chuckled  happily  as  he  read  it,  nodded 
to  Phil,  and  passed  it  on. 

"  Well,  I  had  confidence  in  Phil,  so  when  Ben 
son  called  on  me,  I  went  up  to  the  platform, 
struck  my  finest  attitude,  and  began  : 

"  '  On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low  '  — 

" '  Chestnuts,  chestnuts,'  came  in  Phil's  voice 
from  the  back  of  the  room. 


IO  CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"'All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow/  I 
went  on,  impressively. 

"  '  Oh,  give  us  a  rest ! '  '  Chestnuts  ! ' 
'  We've  heard  that  before,'  came  from  all  over 
the  room,  Phil  leading  the  tumult. 

" '  Iser  rolling  rapidly '  was  greeted  by  a 
perfect  howl.  I  had  said  all  I  knew,  so  I 
stopped,  pretended  to  stammer  a  little  and 
turned  to  Benson. 

" '  It's  very  hard  for  me  to  speak,  sir,'  I  said, 
apologetically,  looking  at  the  shouting  class  in 
front  of  me. 

"  I  knew  Benson  thought  it  beneath  his  dig 
nity  as  a  college  professor  to  take  any  notice  of 
a  breach  of  discipline,  so  the  only  way  that  he 
could  express  his  anger  was  by  taking  my  side 
against  the  howling  class. 

"'Certainly,  Mr.  Jeffries,  it  is  very  difficult 
indeed,'  he  said,  with  an  angry  look  at  the 
class.  'You  are  doing  remarkably  well.  Go 
on.' 

"That  was  just  what  I  could  not  do.  I 
began  again. 

"  «  On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow.' 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  II 

" '  Oh,  dry  up  !  '  shouted  Phil,  and  the  uproar 
broke  out  again.  It  was,  of  course,  useless  to 
attempt  to  speak  against  it.  I  hesitated,  stopped, 
and  looked  at  Benson. 

"  'That  will  do,  Mr.  Jeffries,'  said  he.  'Very 
good,  indeed.  It  is  disgraceful  that  you  should 
be  interrupted  in  this  way.  I  will  give  you  the 
maximum.  The  class  is  dismissed  for  to-day.' ' 

j.  M. 
The  Morningside. 

From  a  College  Man's  Journal* 

Ax  about  eight  o'clock  of  an  evening  you 
shut  your  yellow-back,  light  your  pipe,  and  get 
into  harness  with  the  intention  of  doing  four 
days'  work  in  one.  At  nine  you  are  in  full  work 
ing  stride,  and  the  door-bell  rings.  You  pay  no 
attention  to  him  as  he  enters.  He  carries  an 
obtrusive  fresh-lit  cigar  and  an  air  of  jaunti- 
ness  that  says,  "  Ah !  Working  ?  I  haven't 
anything  until  next  Friday." 

Conversation,  except  of  the  most  vapid  and 
unprofitable  sort,  is  impossible.  You  aren't 
interested  in  hypotheses  based  upon  the  proba 
ble  victory  of  Tufts  2000  over  Harvard.  Work, 


12  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

too,  is  out  of  the  question.  He  wanders  around 
the  house  like  a  draught,  —  a  ghastly,  door- 
creaking,  curtain-banging  draught ;  quiet,  per 
sistent,  maddening.  He  dissolves  somewhere 
in  the  kitchen  and  reappears  with  a  coal 
scuttle.  "  Let's  have  a  fire,  it's  so  cheerful, 
you  know.  No  ?  Work  ?  Gad,  man,  it's  fool 
ish  to  work,"  and  he  resumes  his  mooning 
around,  whistling  tattered  fragments  of  opera 
as  he  goes.  You  are  reduced  to  a  state  of 
nervous  coma  in  which  you  sit  and  watch 
him  from  beneath  your  green  shade,  furtively, 
fearfully,  malignantly. 

Finally,  at  eleven  he  chances  upon  the  open 
door,  and  after  two  or  three  unsuccessful 
attempts  drifts  out ;  says  that  he'll  call  again 
when  you  aren't  busy,  and  immediately  re 
appears  at  the  window  to  tap  idiotically,  and 
say  good  night. 

We  call  him  the  last  straw. 

The  Tuftonian. 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  13 

The  Girl  in  Blue* 

"READY!" 

"  Get  set ! !  " 

"  Bang  ! ! !  " 

You  are  off  like  a  rabbit  at  the  sound  of  the 
dogs,  and  running  like  a  whirlwind.  You  pass 
a  number  of  men,  a  couple  pass  you.  The  first 
lap  is  run,  and  the  race  has  settled  down  into  a 
swift  procession  in  which  every  man  keeps  his 
place.  As  you  get  around  again,  you  notice  a 
pretty  girl  in  blue  near  the  corner.  Perhaps  it 
is  because  of  your  red  band,  but  she  smiles 
slightly  as  you  pass,  and  the  next  time  you 
reach  the  corner,  and  the  next.  A  bell  is  ring 
ing,  the  signal  that  it  is  the  last  lap.  You  try 
to  spurt,  but  your  legs  refuse  to  hurry  faster. 
Ah !  you  started  in  too  fast.  A  red  jersey 
flashes  by  you,  then  another,  then  a  blue  one. 
Everybody  is  shouting.  You  stop.  They  are 
shaking  hands  with  the  man  in  the  red  jersey. 
They  tell  you  you  were  about  sixth.  And  the 
girl  in  blue,  —  how  can  you  walk  by  her  ? 
Easily  enough,  she  is  not  looking  at  you  at  all. 

Harvard  Advocate. 


14  CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 


Those  Teas  and  Things. 

"  WELL,  of  all  the  stupid,  uninteresting " 

These  and  some  other  words,  which  I  do  not 
care  to  repeat,  profaned  Philebrown's  entrance. 
I  laid  down  my  pen  at  once.  This  was  cheerful 
and  enlivening.  "Come  in,  Philly,"  said  I, 
affably.  "  Have  a  cigarette,  and  confide  your 
sorrows  to  this  trusty  bosom."  Philly  murmured 
something  decidedly  uncomplimentary  to  my 
bosom,  but  entered  in  a  cyclonic  style.  Having 
banged  the  door,  thrown  his  tile  hat  and  his 
overcoat  into  a  corner,  and  kicked  over  the  fire 
irons,  he  subsided  moodily  into  a  chair.  I  for 
bore  to  break  the  silence. 

Long  acquaintance  with  Philebrown  has  given 
me  a  somewhat  definite  insight  into  his  moods. 
He  is  a  tall  person,  inclined  to  lankness,  excit 
able,  but  with  a  saving  sense  of  humour  ;  on  his 
guard  immediately  at  an  attempt  to  draw  him 
out,  but,  left  alone,  confiding  as  a  child.  There 
fore  I  held  my  peace  and  contemplated  Philly. 

"  I  sha'n't  go  again,"  he  finally  burst  out, 
regarding  me  defiantly. 

"Ah,"  I  remarked,   softly,  "you  have  been 


CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  15 

once  more  to  a  tea—          Oh,  yes,  I'm  listening  ; 
go  on." 

"Well,  as  I  said,  of  all  the  uninterest 
ing - 

"  Humanity  in  the  mass  is  always  uninterest 
ing,"  I  murmured. 

"  How  some  fellows  can  go  it  week  in  and 
week  out,  I  can't  imagine.  Why,  it's  —  it's  a 
sign  of  mental  — 

"  Have  another  cigarette,  Philly." 

"  Thanks.     But  as  I  was  saying  about  those 
teas  and  things.     You  go  and  see  a  roomful  of 
girls  —  pretty  ?     Yes,  they're  pretty  enough,  - 
of  course  a  man  likes  to  see  a  pretty  girl  - 
every  one  does,  —  but  it  reminds  me  of  this  pink 
and  yellow  candy  in  glass  jars,  —  fearful  sweet 
stuff,  you  know,  and  bad  for  the  digestion.     I'd 
rather  chew  sassafras  root." 

Here  Philly  subsided  again. 

"  Go  on,  Philly,"  I  entreated  ;  "  this  is  beau 
tiful.  And  from  a  college  man  —  alas  the 
day ! " 

"  What  I  want  to  know  is,  what  do  you  say  to 
'em  ?  "  demanded  Philly,  aggressively.  "  Aren't 
there  any  sensible  girls  ?  I  suppose  a  man  must 
give  receipts  for  rare-bit  and  fudge,  whatever 


1 6  CAP    AND   GOWN   IN    PROSE 

that  is,  and  babble  about  the  weather,  and  giggle 
about  the  girl  in  the  corner,  or  talk  of  the  horrid 
professors.  That's  what  they  seemed  to  be 
doing  for  the  most  part." 

"  Philly,"  said  I,  gravely,  "  I  am  a  Junior  and 
you  are  but  a  Sophomore.  Hear  me.  There 
may  be  those  who  are  interesting.  I  can't  say. 
This  much  is  so  :  lions  and  lambs  do  not  as  yet 
congregate  together.  A  man  dare  not  take  an 
interesting  homely  girl  to  anything.  She  will 
have  a  disagreeable  time  in  a  corner.  To  be  a 
social  bluffer  is  an  enviable  distinction,  but  it 
entails  much  weariness  of  the  flesh,  much  pass 
ing  over  of  intellectual  deficiency,  and  an  un 
ending  search  for  that  rare  bird,  —  the  pretty 
girl." 

Philly  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I  say,"  he  began,  "  that  a  man's  college 
is  for  men.  I'd  rather  see  a  college  full  of  good, 
honest  sports,  than  a  gang  of  fellows  who  swarm 
to  dances  like  flies  around  a  honey-pot.  I  had  !  " 
he  asserted,  savagely. 

"  You're  an  orator,  a  Demosthenes,  a —  Chief 
Justice,  Philebrown,"  I  interposed. 

"  Look  at  the  men  who  go  over " 

(f  Tut,  tut,  take  another  cigarette,"  said  I. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  IJ 

"Well,  anyway,"  said  Philly,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  "that's  the  way  I  feel  about  it,  and  if  I 
ever  have  a  girl,  you  can  be  sure  of  one  thing, 

I  sha'n't  send  her  to " 

"Hush,  Philly,  old  man,  this  is  heresy,  rank 
heresy.  Come  on  ;  there's  the  dinner-bell." 

E.  B.  POTTLE. 
Amherst  Literary  MontJily. 

Child  Sketches. 

THE  little  boy  crept  up  on  my  knee  and  sat  a 
moment,  pulling  thoughtfully  on  my  watch-chain. 
In  the  half  twilight  he  looked  very  solemn  and 
dignified. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Johnny  Tupper  ?  "  I  finally 
remarked,  as  a  means  of  starting  conversation. 
His  long  lashes  touched  his  cheek. 

''Oh,  Ise  pretty  near  seben,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  how  near  ?  "  I  asked.   .  "  'Bout  five  ?  " 

His  round,  chubby  face  bobbed  up.  "Yes," 
he  replied,  with  a  frank  little  smile. 

For  a  moment  he  fumbled,  half -bash  fully,  with 
the  button  at  the  top  of  my  waistcoat,  smiling 
to  himself ;  then  he  leaned  his  cool  cheek  close 
to  mine  and  asked,  confidingly  : 


1 8  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Say !  do  people  grow  very  much  on  their 
birthdays  ? " 

"  Well,  well,"  roared  the  old  stage-driver,  tuck 
ing  the  robe  around  the  little  girl's  feet,  "  goin' 
home,  be  yer  ?  I  reckoned  as  much  when  I  see 
yer  ma  this  rnornin'.  What  do  you  suppose  I 
ketched  her  doin'  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  the  little  girl,  looking  up  at  the 
old  man  with  a  scared  expression.  Perhaps  she 
was  thinking  of  her  own  escapades  in  the  pantry. 

"Waal,"  answered  the  old  fellow,  "if  you 
won't  tell  yer  ma  I  told  yer,  listen  here."  (And 
he  leaned  down  so  that  his  white  beard  was 
close  to  the  little  girl's  ear.)  "  She  was  makin' 
cookies,  Susan,  cookies  built  like  a  S." 

In  the  middle  of  the  slushy  road,  under  a  big 
elm-tree,  we  met  a  small  child.  He  was  busily 
clawing  up  the  snow  at  one  end  of  a  puddle  so 
as  to  make  a  dam  ;  and  all  the  while  he  hummed 
softly  to  himself.  We  spoke  to  him,  I  think ; 
perhaps  asked  him  our  way ;  but  he  could  not 
answer.  He  gave  us  one  glance  out  of  big 
eyes,  and  went  on  humming,  and  scraping,  and 
patting  the  snow. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  19 

The  dirt-court  glared  with  the  afternoon's 
heat,  and  the  two  girls,  who  had  been  decoyed 
into  game  after  game  by  their  well-matched 
skill,  were  now  well-nigh  exhausted.  A  group 
of  bare-legged  pickaninnies  watched  the  game 
with  grinning  interest. 

"  My  vantage,"  shouted  the  server. 

As  the  ball  whizzed  low  over  the  net,  the  re 
ceiver,  with  desperate  effort,  gave  her  racquet 
full  sweep  —  the  ball  flew  back,  over  the  server's 
head,  and  down  the  asphalt  street.  One  of 
the  small  darkies  bounded  after  it,  and  the 
hot  asphalt  yielded  under  his  footsteps  like  the 
cooled  lava  crust  over  a  boiling  volcano.  He 
caught  the  ball,  pocketed  it,  and  walked  away 
whistling. 

"  Stop  there,"  called  the  players  ;  "  where  are 
you  going  with  that  ball  ?  " 

The  brown  imp  thrust  both  hands  into  his 
ragged  pockets,  as  he  turned  and  shouted  : 

"  Coin'  to  de  devil ;  wan'  ter  come  along  ?  " 

Harvard  Advocate. 


2O  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


A  Choice:   Part  One. 

THE  whole  thing  began  this  way.  As  the  car 
rounded  the  corner  and  swung  into  Fourth 
Avenue,  Tim  dropped  off  first!  I  came  next. 
There  was  some  joke  or  other  among  the  fellows, 
and  I  suppose  I  wasn't  noticing  much  where  I 
was  going.  I  remember  that  some  one  yelled 
at  me,  and  that  a  copper  on  the  corner  waved 
his  arms  and  started  to  run  forward,  and  then 
something  caught  me  behind  the  shoulder  like  a 
ton  of  brick,  and  shot  me  over  the  cobbles  on  my 
face.  It  was  quite  like  bucking  the  interference 
in  a  Yale  game,  and  what  made  it  so  real  was 
that  something  went  bumping  over  me  just  as 
the  backs  do  when  you  get  in  their  way. 

At  the  second  bump,  the  stones  against  my 
head  felt  very  soft,  and  I  was  wondering  at 
this  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  fell  asleep. 

The  next  thing  I  remember  was  hearing 
Tim's  voice.  I  can't  recollect  the  exact  words, 
but  you  wouldn't  care  to  hear  them  if  I  could. 
I  opened  my  eyes,  and  you  may  imagine  my  sur 
prise  at  finding  the  ceiling  of  the  Murray  Hill 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  21 

above  me.  I  couldn't  begin  to  count  the  bell 
boys  and  porters  and  clerks  that  stood  around, 
but  they  irritated  me  horribly.  Some  one  brought 
some  kind  of  a  stretcher  thing,  and  laid  it  on  the 
floor  beside  me.  Then  I  went  to  sleep  again. 

It  was  funny  the  way  they  changed  things 
about.  When  I  woke  up  they  had  made  the 
office  much  smaller,  and  repapered  the  walls, 
and  put  in  a  bureau  and  the  bed  I  was  lying  on, 
and  lots  of  things  that  looked  very  much  out  of 
place.  Tim  and  Jerry  were  sitting  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

I  remember  Tim  saying  :  "  Well,  this  does 
for  us  when  they  try  us  through  left  guard,  all 
right."  Then  both  of  them  growled  a  bit  and 
kicked  their  chair  legs.  "  You've  got  to  put 
Mugs  in  the  game  now,"  Jerry  said.  Tim 
growled  again,  got  up  and  went  over  to  the 
window. 

The  door  opened,  and  Billy  the  trainer  slid 
in.  "We've  got  to  start  in  a  minute,  boys,"  he 
said,  snapping  his  watch.  They  all  turned  to 
look  at  me,  and  when  I  cocked  an  eye  at  them 
they  came  over  to  the  bed.  "  What's  the  game  ?  " 
I  asked,  huskily. 


22  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

They  all  three  started  to  talk,  and  then 
stopped.  Finally  Tim  said :  "  You've  been 
broken  up  a  bit,  old  man,  and  we've  got  to  leave 
you  here  for  awhile."  He  was  not  looking  at 
me.  Neither  was  Jerry.  "  And  miss  the 
game  ?  "  I  asked.  My  voice  sounded  very  queer. 
"  Doctor's  orders,"  said  some  one. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  a  beautiful 
day  —  regular  football  weather.  Then  Tim  took 
my  hand  and  sat  down  on  the  bedside,  and 
talked  to  me  for  some  time  in  the  way  he  has. 

"We'll  get  some  one  who's  not  on  the  team 
to  stay  with  you,"  he  said,  finally,  "and  is  there 
any  one  in  New  York  we  can  send  for  ? " 

"  I  won't  have  any  one  stay,"  I  said ;  "  and 
there's  no  one  to  send  for."  They  all  looked  at 
me  very  solemnly.  Then  they  shook  hands  with 
me.  " Good-bye,  me  boy,"  said  Billy.  "Good 
bye,  old  man,"  said  Tim  and  Jerry,  "  till  to 
night."  They  went  out.  By  and  by  a  nurse 
came  in.  All  the  rest  of  the  morning  she  sat 
by  the  window  reading. 

The  little  clock  on  the  bureau  pointed  to  three 
o'clock.  I  knew  what  they  were  doing  miles 
away.  There  was  a  big  orange  and  black  bank 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  23 

on  one  side  of  a  field,  and  a  blue  bank  on  the 
other.  Tim  and  a  man  in  a  blue  sweater  were 
tossing  a  coin  in  the  middle  of  the  field.  And 
I  should  have  been  there,  to  run  forward,  and 
butt  my  shoulder  up  against  some  one  and  tear 
over  him,  and  fall  underneath  the  pile,  and  hear 
the  whistle  blow  faintly  above  the  grinding  of 
leather.  Instead  of  that  it  was  some  one  else. 
I'd  worked  hard  all  year  for  it,  and  now  it  was 
some  one  else.  It  was  pretty  hard  lines,  wasn't 
it? 

The  nurse  came  to  the  bed.  "  Did  you  call  ? " 
she  asked.  "  No,"  I  said,  and  turned  my  head 
away. 

Princeton   Tiger. 

A  Choice:   Part  Two* 

THERE  was  a  little  knock  on  the  door.  It 
opened,  and  I  give  you  my  word  my  heart 
jumped  clear  up  in  my  mouth.  She  was  stand 
ing  in  the  entrance  with  a  boa  and  a  muff  of 
gray  fox,  and  the  nicest  little  hat  over  her  eyes 
—  all  alone.  She  looked  frightened. 

The  nurse  went  over,  and  they  whispered 
together.  She  never  took  her  eyes  off  my  face, 


24  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

and  I  know  I  was  staring  at  her  with  my  mouth 
open. 

The  nurse  went  out,  and  she  came  over  and 
sat  down  beside  me.  I  didn't  say  anything.  I 
couldn't.  Finally  she  said,  "  Poor  Tom,"  but 
you  can't  get  any  idea  just  how  she  said  it. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  "  I  asked  when  I  found 
rny  voice.  She  drew  an  extra  out  of  her  muff 
and  showed  me  the  big  black  headlines : 

YALE    LUCK  AGAIN. 

PRINCETON'S  LEFT  GUARD  TACKLES  A  TRUCK  AND 
IS  PUT  ON  THE  SHELF. 

I  was  reading  it  for  the  third  time  when  she 
said  :  "Is  it  very  dangerous,  Tom  ?  Can't  I 
do  anything  ?  I  came  right  away  —  without  a 
word  to  any  one.  I  knew  they'd  leave  you  for 
the  game."  "  You  were  going  yourself  !  "  I  cried, 
remorsefully.  She  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't 
want  to,"  she  said.  I  looked  out  of  the  window 
for  a  long  time.  The  first  half  must  have 
been  over  long  ago.  If  I  only  knew.  I  felt 
her  hand  on  mine.  "  Tom,"  she  said.  "  I  won 
der,"  I  remarked  mostly  to  myself,  "  if  they  are 
trying  the  fullback  tricks."  "Tom,"  she  said, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  25 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something."    "  If  I  only  knew 
which  was  winning,"  I  muttered  to  the  wall. 

"  Tom  !  "  There  was  a  break  in  her  voice.  I 
looked  at  the  clock.  "  Why,  the  game's  over  !  " 
I  cried.  "  We've  won  or  we've  lost !  "  There 
was  a  noise  in  the  street  below,  a  clatter  of  feet, 
and  a  crying  of  shrill  voices.  "  The  extras  are 
out  "  —  I  tried  to  sit  up,  and  the  room  began  to 
whirl  dangerously.  "  Which  won  —  you  can 
find  out  at  the  window,  Marie  —  which  won  ? " 
She  went  to  the  window  —  but  how  slowly  ! 
She  listened  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned. 
"  Which  won  ?  "  I  repeated.  The  shadow  fell 
across  her  face.  "  I  came  to  answer  some 
thing,"  she  said,  steadily,  "  that  you  asked  me 
last  week.  Which  do  you  care  to  hear  —  that 
or  the  result  of  the  game  ? " 

I'm  afraid  I  didn't  quite  understand  her  at 
first.  The  noise  outside  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 
You  know  her  face  was  in  the  dusk,  and  I  raised 
myself  to  see  her  more  plainly.  Then  the  room 
went  round  again,  and  I  dropped  back  against 
the  headboard.  And  the  next  thing  I  knew,  she 
was  beside  the  bed,  telling  me  both  in  the  same 
breath. 

Princeton  Tiger. 


26  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


An  Unplayed  Trump. 

HAT  in  hand,  Freshman  Black,  with  bowed 
head,  thoughtfully  trudged  up  the  stairs  into  the 
dean's  office.  From  under  one  arm  was  stick 
ing  his  big  black-covered  note-book.  On  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  he  was  making  a  careful 
computation. 

"  At  four  —  too  young  ;  at  eight  —  sick  abed  ; 
at  twelve  —  one  hundred  and  eightieth  merid 
ian  ;  sixteen  this  month.  There,  that  ought  to 
be  good,"  he  growled  to  himself,  as  he  gave  an 
officious  thump  on  the  door  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

The  dean  was  busy.  Black  sat  down  in  one 
of  the  empty  chairs.  It  was  his  first  invasion 
of  the  official  apartments  since  he  had  taken  out 
his  Freshman  Bible.  His  inexperience  occa 
sioned  him  not  a  few  misgivings,  which  were  not 
allayed  at  all  by  the  rather  dejecting  dismissal 
of  two  Juniors,  who  he  knew  had  come  on  errands 
similar  to  his  own.  However,  he  felt  himself 
well  prepared. 

"  Good  morning,  Black,"  very  shortly. 

"Good  morning,  professor.      I   intend   to  go 


CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  27 

home  during  Washington's  Birthday  recess,  and 
I  wish  to  speak  with  you  about  — 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  the  dean, 
"  about  an  extension  of  time.  Very  sorry,  Black, 
but  no  excuses  are  to  be  given  this  year.  I  have 
refused  fifty  men  already,  and  must  treat  all 
alike." 

"  I  see  that,  professor,  of  course,  but  I  have 
got  —  " 

"  An  ulcerated  tooth.  I  understand  perfectly, 
Black.  Very  unfortunate,  but  you  see  so  many 
are  afflicted  with  that  same  malady,  at  precisely 
this  time  every  year,  that  I  positively  cannot 
grant  absences  on  account  of  it.  If  every 
ulcerated  tooth  in  this  college  were  to  be 
extracted,  half  the  Freshman  class  would  be 
in  bandages." 

"  So  I  have  been  told,  professor,  but  some 
one  must  have  misinformed  you  in  regard  to  my 
case.  I've  got  full  sets  of  false  teeth  in  both 
jaws.  What  I  was  about  to  say  was,  that  my 
sister  —  " 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  Black,  I  understand,  I  under 
stand.  Your  sister  is  just  on  the  point  of  death. 
I  am  just  as  sorry  as  I  can  be,  but  I  couldn't  let 
you  go  if  your  whole  family  had  the  yellow  fever 


28  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

and  you  were  the  only  nurse  available.      Good 
morning." 

"  Again  you  have  been  misinformed,  sir," 
went  on  the  complacent  Freshman.  "  My  sister 
is  in  charming  health.  She  will  be  sixteen  years 
old  the  twenty-ninth  of  this  month,  and  that's 
why  I  want  to  go  home.  This  is  but  the  third 
birthday  that  she  has  ever  had,  and,  naturally 
enough,  she  wants  me  to  be  there." 

" Third!"  thundered  the  dean.  "I  thought 
you  said  she  was  sixteen." 

"She  is  sixteen,"  Black  went  on,  hotly,  "but 
didn't  I  tell  you  she  was  born  on  February  2Qth  ? 
Her  birthday  comes  only  once  in  four  years. 
Her  first  one,  when  she  was  four,  she  was  too 
young  to  have  any  fun  out  of  it.  On  her  second, 
when  she  was  eight,  she  was  sick  abed.  On  her, 
third,  when  she  was  twelve,  we  were  travelling, 
and  happened  just  then  to  be  crossing  the  one 
hundred  and  eightieth  meridian.  The  time 
reckoning  did  us  out  of  that  day.  The  poor 
girl  has  only  had  two  birthdays,  so  you  will  see 
now  why  I  am  so  anxious  about  getting  home." 

"  Black,"  said  the  dean,  slowly,  "  as  annually 
happens  at  this  time,  in  the  last  two  days  I  have 
had  twenty-seven  cases  of  ulcerated  teeth,  thir- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  2Q 

teen  business  appointments,  eight  dead  grand 
parents,  six  fatal  illnesses,  three  marriages,  and 
two  departures  for  Europe.  Black,  even  a  dean 
appreciates  originality.  Black,  you  are  excused 
for  two  weeks." 

"I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  tell  the  young 
rascal,"  chuckled  the  good-natured  dean  to  him 
self,  as  the  delighted  Freshman  rushed  down 
the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  jump,  "  I  didn't  have 
the  heart  to  tell  him  I  happened  to  know  that 
he  is  an  only  child." 

F.  V.  BENNIS. 
Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly. 

In  Perspective. 

ALL  of  a  sudden  the  two  narrow  specks  away 
up-stream  flashed  in  the  sunlight.  From  the 
two  tugs,  great  black  clouds  of  smoke  began  to 
roll  up,  and  there  was  a  faint  whistle. 

The  'Varsity  eights  were  off. 

On  they  came,  the  two  narrow  specks,  like 
swift  waterbugs,  with  their  long,  thin  legs  work 
ing  rapidly  on  each  side.  As  they  approached, 
the  lines  lengthened  and  the  eight  divisions  of 
each  could  be  seen,  each  moving  for  itself  and 


3O  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

yet  all  working  together,  like  the  ridged  back  of 
a  caterpillar.  Behind  each,  the  two  tugs  black 
with  men,  with  clouds  of  oily  smoke  pouring 
up  from  their  funnels  and  rolling  up  before  them 
a  surging  fold  of  green  water,  steamed  heavily 
along. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Three, 

Now  Tom  Ralston,  as  everybody  knew,  was 
the  pleasantest  and  laziest  and  best-natured 
fellow  in  the  world,  and  everybody  knowing 
that  took  advantage  of  it  and  of  him.  He 
couldn't  say  no  to  any  one  or  anything.  No 
one  ever  knew  him  to  refuse  to  do  a  favour  at 
any  cost  to  himself,  and  presently  he  was  the 
best  liked  and  worst  abused  man  in  the  place. 

His  particular  forte  was  answering  "  Here " 
for  other  men  who  for  various  reasons  saw  fit 
to  absent  themselves  from  divers  and  sundry 
recitations  and  lectures,  especially  eight  o'clocks. 
His  one  particular  failing,  his  friends  said,  was 
that  he  could  not  or  would  not  cut  lectures,  and 
he  was  thus  a  useful  man  to  know,  his  friendship 
being  especially  cultivated  by  men  who  did  cut. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  3! 

He  answered  to  the  names  of  his  friends 
when  asked  to  do  so  —  and  that  was  very  often 
—  with  painstaking  care.  But  one  day,  when 
he  had  answered  for  five  men  at  one  lecture,  it 
occurred  to  him  of  a  sudden  he  was  somehow 
being  imposed  on.  It  was  hard  work  to  re 
member  to  answer  for  them  in  the  right  place. 
Now  the  best-natured  of  us  do  not  like  to  think 
our  kindness  is  being  taken  advantage  of,  and 
the  more  Tom  thought  the  situation  over,  the 
more  firmly  he  became  convinced  this  thing 
must  stop.  For  a  time  he  was  puzzled  to  find 
just  how  this  could  be  done.  It  was  no  use  to 
tell  the  men  he  wouldn't,  that  would  make  hard 
feeling,  it  would  take  a  lot  of  time  and  trouble, 
and  it  would  be  months  before  men  would  quit 
asking  him.  Some  simpler  plan  must  be  de 
vised  that  would  be  quick,  effective,  and  univer 
sal,  something  that  would  impress  his  change  of 
heart  forcibly  on  their  minds.  He  said  nothing 
to  any  one  about  his  decision.  He  was  not  that 
kind.  He  kept  his  own  counsel  and,  having  a 
sense  of  humour,  devised  a  plan  presently,  in  his 
easy-going  way,  that  he  thought  would  work. 

Professor  Summers's  class  was  very  large. 
Three  times  a  week  he  lectured  to  two  or  three 


32  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

hundred  men  of  several  classes  and  courses. 
Tom's  friends  mustered  into  these  lectures  in 
force,  and  it  was  here  he  was  obliged  to  perjure 
himself  oftenest.  Here  it  was,  then,  that  his 
plan  must  be  put  in  execution. 

One  evening,  going  down-town  for  the  mail 
after  tea,  he  met  a  chum.  "  By  the  way, 
Charlie,"  he  said,  "I'm  going  to  cut  Prof.  Sum 
mers  in  the  morning.  Answer  for  me,  will 
you  ? " 

"Glad  to,"  said  Charlie. 

He  met  another  an  instant  later,  with  the 
same  request  and  answer,  and  another,  till  he 
had  unostentatiously  pledged  some  twenty-five 
or  thirty  men  to  respond  to  his  name.  Then  he 
dropped  in  on  several  men  on  his  way  up  and 
got  them.  At  breakfast  he  asked  some  more, 
and  all  he  met  on  their  way  up,  till  half  the  class 
had  agreed  to  assure  the  mild  professor  of  his 
presence. 

Then  when  they  had  gone  rejoicing  on  their 
way,  with  his  slow,  sweet  smile,  he  strolled  up 
the  campus  and  dropped  unnoticed  into  a  seat 
by  the  lecture-room  door,  as  the  roll  was  being 
called.  It  went  as  peacefully  and  monotonously 
as  usual.  "Adams,  Alexander,  Arkwright, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  33 

Baldwin,  Berdick,  Binks,  Blinn,"  and  the  "here," 
"  here,"  "here,"  "here,"  "here,"  till  along  at 
the  end  there  came  "Perkins,"  "here,"  "Platt," 
"here,"  "  Prather,"  "here,"  —  "Ralston,"  and 
with  an  emphasis  that  rattled  the  windows,  half 
the  class  answered  "  Here  !  " 

Then  there  was  a  sudden  hush.  In  deathlike 
silence  each  of  the  obliging  men  looked  curiously, 
then  angrily,  around  at  his  companions,  suspect 
ing  that  somehow  he  had  been  betrayed,  yet  not 
fully  understanding  how.  The  other  half  of  the 
class  looked  even  more  stupefied,  but,  supposing 
there  was  some  joke  on  the  professor,  laughed. 
The  professor  himself,  startled  from  the  dull 
routine  of  the  roll-call,  looked  up  in  puzzled 
surprise,  not  unmixed  with  anger,  but  seeing  an 
equally  puzzled  look  on  the  faces  of  some  of  the 
men  nearest  to  him,  waited  a  moment  and  called 
again  "  Ralston  !  "  And  from  the  far  corner 
where  Tom  sat  with  his  slow,  sweet  smile,  there 
came  with  startling  distinctness  his  "  Here !  " 
that  turned  his  half  of  the  class  in  their  seats  as 
if  they  had  been  moved  by  an  electric  shock 
But  he  sat  and  smiled  pleasantly  at  them. 

Then  the  old  professor  looked  over  his  glasses. 
"  Mr.  Ralston,"  said  he,  "  will  you  kindly  stop 


34  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

a  moment  at  the  desk  after  the  lecture  ?  I 
would  like  to  speak  to  you."  And  so  after  the 
lecture  Tom  went  slowly  up  to  the  desk  while 
his  friends  waited  outside. 

"Mr.  Ralston,"  said  the  professor,  "that  was 
a  curious  manifestation  in  class  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  encouragingly. 

"  Do  you  —  ah  —  happen  to  know,  Mr.  Rals 
ton,  the  —  ah  —  names  of  any  of  those  young 
men  who  —  ah  —  put  up  that  joke  on  you  this 
morning  ? " 

And  Tom,  with  smiling  truthfulness,  assured 
the  dear  old  man  that  he  knew  no  man  who  had 
played  any  joke  on  him  that  morning. 

But  the  anxious  friends  who  awaited  him  out 
side  assured  him  in  turn,  on  his  emerging  safe 
from  the  hands  of  the  professor,  that  if  he  ever 
dared  tell  that  story  while  he  was  in  college, 
they  would  do  themselves  the  honour  of  attend 
ing  his  execution  en  masse.  And  he,  having 
sufficiently  impressed  his  point  on  their  minds 
by  his  little  joke,  and  having  through  it  become 
a  college  tradition,  be  it  said  to  his  honour,  never 
did  tell  the  story  till  years  afterward  when  he 
came  back  an  alumnus. 

Cornell  Magazine. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  35 


A  Believer  in  Class  Spirit. 

WHILE  in  college  Charley  West  had  been  a 
loyal  and  devoted  member  of  the  class  of  1900. 
Throughout  his  course  he  had  always  signed 
himself,  "Charles  S.  West,  1900,"  and  this 
became  so  strong  a  habit  that  he  found  it 
hard  to  break  in  the  first  few  years  after  his 
graduation.  He  found  himself  still  putting 
"  1900"  after  his  signature,  and  when  starting 
to  Cuba  to  accept  a  position  as  civil  engineer, 
he  discovered  that  he  had  absent-mindedly 
added  the  cherished  numerals  to  his  signature 
in  the  passenger  list  of  the  Santiago  line. 
"  There's  no  such  room  in  the  boat,"  the 
purser  had  reminded  him,  with  an  indulgent 
smile. 

Charley  did  not  build  any  great  hopes  on  his 
new  appointment.  The  company  was  just  being 
formed,  for  the  purpose  of  building  a  railroad 
from  Santiago  to  a  point  some  forty  miles  east, 
and  Charley  was  engaged  to  assist  the  surveying 
party  in  laying  out  the  road.  Unfortunately, 
the  financial  backing  of  the  new  concern  did 
not  look  promising. 


36  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

For  several  days  the  subscription  books  of  the 
Santiago  and  Eastern  Railroad  Company,  as  it 
was  called,  were  open  for  local  investments. 
As  the  engraved  stock  certificates  were  not  yet 
ready,  the  subscribers  were  given  temporary  re 
ceipts.  Those  who  wanted  only  one  share  were 
to  sign  simply  their  names,  while  those  who 
desired  more  were  to  indicate  after  their  names 
the  number  of  shares  desired.  Charley  West 
thought  he  might  as  well  buy  a  share  in  his 
own  company,  —  they  were  selling  at  twenty-five 
dollars,  but  he  would  not  be  able  to  pay  for  it 
till  he  had  received  his  first  salary,  at  the  end 
of  the  week.  Consequently  he  signed  his  name 
in  the  book,  and,  instead  of  making  the  usual 
deposit  asked  the  clerk  in  charge  if  he  could 
be  given  credit  till  Saturday  morning.  The 
clerk,  knowing  of  his  connection  with  the 
company,  readily  agreed,  and  Charley  left  the 
office  with  hardly  a  thought  of  his  invest 
ment.  He  intended  to  call  Saturday  morn 
ing,  pay  for  his  share,  and  receive  a  receipt 
or  a  certificate. 

The  next  morning,  Tuesday,  he  learned  that 
lack  of  confidence  in  the  company  had  caused 
the  stock  to  fall  to  1 5  in  the  Havana  market. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  37 

"  Well,  I'd  be  out  ten  dollars  if  I  sold  now," 
he  told  himself. 

Wednesday  morning,  as  he  was  about  to  leave 
his  lodgings  at  Santiago  to  depart  for  the  scene 
of  the  day's  work,  a  friend  called  him  back  to 
show  him  an  item  in  the  Santiago  Cuban- 
American. 

"  Listen  to  this,  Charley,  that  stock  of  yours 
is  going  up.  Look  at  the  headlines  : 

RISE    IN    SANTIAGO    AND    EASTERN. 

INTRODUCTION    OF     AMERICAN     CAPITAL    BOOMS     RAIL 
ROAD    STOCK. 

"  Ah  !  To  proceed. 

"  '  It  was  stated  last  evening  at  the  offices  of 
the  Santiago  and  Eastern  Railroad  Company 
that  a  syndicate  of  American  capitalists  had 
made  an  offer  for  all  the  unsubscribed  stock  of 
the  company,  acceptance  of  which  was  promptly 
given.  The  syndicate  agents,  who  are  now  in 
the  city,  have  been  thoroughly  investigating  the 
new  company  and  its  projects,  and  say  that  the 
work  will  be  vigorously  prosecuted,'  etc.,  etc.  It 
goes  on  to  say  that  the  stock  has  risen  to  60." 

"  Jumping  Jupiter  !  "  shouted  Charley.  "  I'm 
in  thirty-five  dollars  !  " 


38  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Just  wait  awhile,  old  man,  —  I  see  your 
name  down  here  somewhere,  and  I'll  read  what 
it  says : 

"  *  Several  local  investors  were  prudent  enough 
to  secure  seats  in  the  band-wagon  before  the  rise. 
Most  of  the  orders  were  for  small  amounts,  how 
ever.  In  fact,  the  only  investment  of  any  con 
sequence  is  that  of  Mr.  Charles  S.  West,  whose 
name  is  down  for  nineteen  hundred' —  Great 
Scott,  man,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  bought  —  " 

"  Hurrah  for  <  Naughty-aught ! '"  cried  Charley, 
who  was  just  comprehending  the  situation.  For 
a  moment  he  did  some  figuring  on  the  margin 
of  the  newspaper.  "  I'm  in  sixty-six  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars  —  and  all  because  of  my 
class  spirit !  I'm  sure  I  can  easily  cover  that 
bid  —  but  wait  till  I  tell  you  how  it  happened." 

And  yet  there  are  those  who  say  that  a  col 
lege  education  is  of  no  practical  value  in  later 
life! 

JAMES  ALBERT  WALES. 

Trinity  Tablet. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  39 


The  Unexpected* 

THERE  were  seven  or  eight  of  us  in  Dixon's 
room,  shortly  after  the  examinations,  listening 
to  a  story  which  the  lively  Sophomore  was 
telling. 

"The  jay  was  just  going  into  University  Hall 
when  I  let  drive  at  him  with  a  snow-ball,  and  —  " 
He  stopped  suddenly  and  held  up  his  hand  for 
silence,  while  a  look  of  alarm  overspread  his 
face. 

Tramp  !  Tramp  !  Tramp  !  came  the  sound  of 
slow  footsteps  in  the  hall. 

"  Flunk-notices  !  "  said  Dixon,  tragically. 

There  came  a  sharp  click  at  the  letter-hole  of 
the  door  and  a  letter  dropped  on  the  floor. 

"  Hang  it  all !  "  said  Dixon,  aggrieved.  "  That's 
just  my  infernal  luck.  I'll  bet  it's  in  chemistry." 
With  disgust  written  all  over  his  face  he  picked 
up  the  letter ;  then  his  expression  changed  to 
one  of  joy.  He  hastily  tore  open  the  envelope 
and  held  up  a  check  for  us  to  see. 

"Whoop-la!"  said  Dixon.  "It's  from  home 
and  was  sent  to  the  steward's  office  by  mistake ! 
I'm  getting  tired  of  being  scared  that  way  at  the 


40  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

end  of  every  term.     Moral :  don't  cry  till  you 
are  hurt." 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Marvin,  who  was  a 
student,  "that  there  is  a  much  plainer  moral 
than  that  —  " 

But  Dixon  was  dancing  a  startling  sort  of 
can-can,  while  he  waved  the  check  above  his 
head. 

Brunonian. 

Two  Yards  to  Gain* 

WE  had  only  two  yards  to  make  to  carry 
the  ball  over.  "  2-14-18  1-2-3,"  c"6^  the  quar 
ter.  I  put  my  head  down  and  dove  for  the  line 
just  as  a  brown  streak  twisted  itself  into  my 
arms.  I  watched  the  brown  wall  ahead  of  me. 
"  How  long  I  was  in  reaching  it !  Would  it  never 
open  !  "  Suddenly  a  break  appeared,  only  to  be 
stopped  up  by  a  brown  object  with  a  splash 
of  white  on  top.  I  was  lifted  off  my  feet  and 
thrown ;  but  fell  forward.  As  I  fell,  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  grayish-blue  sky,  rolling  like 
the  waves  of  the  ocean,  and  on  one  side  a  high 
wall  dotted  with  crimson  specks  which  rose  and 
fell  like  the  hammers  of  a  piano.  Bright  copper 


CAP   AND   GOWN   IN    PROSE  41 

discs  suddenly  burned  my  eyes.     Then  the  most 
refreshing,  cool  darkness  shut  in. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

A  Chance  Acquaintance. 

IT  was  a  particularly  attractive  girl  that  sat 
opposite  Jim  Ware  in  the  train  that  night,  and 
Jim  Ware  had  an  eye  for  attractive  girls.  She 
had  a  naive  sort  of  look  about  her  that  quite 
charmed  him,  but  even  this  failed  to  exert  any 
salutary  effects  whatever,  and  I  am  ashamed  to 
say  that  he  stared  across  the  aisle  quite  impo 
litely,  and  then  coughed  in  a  gentle  but  repre 
hensible  manner. 

His  charmer  looked  up  and  caught  his  admir 
ing  glance,  but  she  blushed  slightly  and  made 
a  pretence  of  being  busy  with  some  papers  in 
her  lap,  not  being  able,  however,  to  control  a 
slight  twitching  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
Jim  thought  that  these  papers  which  she  fum 
bled  with  were  students'  notes,  but  she  was 
really  too  good-looking  for  a  co-ed,  and  then, 
besides,  who  ever  heard  of  a  co-ed  who  would 
— well  —  who  would  smile  at  a  strange  man  ? 
So  Jim  beamed  upon  her  again,  and,  assured 


42  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

that  his  tentative  efforts  did  not  appear  to  have 
offended  her  to  any  particular  extent,  he  exerted 
himself  anew,  and  for  the  next  five  minutes 
shamefully  neglected  his  evening  paper. 

"  West  Newton,  West  Newton  !  "  screamed 
the  brakeman. 

Jim's  station  was  next,  and,  realising  that 
every  moment  was  precious,  he  made  a  sign  to 
the  girl,  and  scribbled  a  couple  of  words  on  his 
card,  observing  with  satisfaction  that  she  was 
doing  the  like  on  one  of  the  papers  in  her 
lap. 

"  Auburndale  !  "  called  the  brakeman. 

A  skilful  exchange  of  billets  was  but  the 
work  of  a  moment,  and,  emerging  from  the  train, 
Jim  hurried  to  the  flickering  gaslight  at  the 
station,  and  unfolded  the  crumpled  note  which 
his  fair  vis-a-vis  had  pressed  into  his  hand.  One 
side  of  the  sheet  was  covered  with  print,  of 
which  Mr.  Don  Juan  Ware  caught  a  few  words 
at  the  end  : 

" .  .  .  Think  what  joy  there  is  in  heaven 
over  the  sinner  that  repenteth.  Turn  ye  there 
fore  from  your  evil  ways  and  sin  no  more." 

(Prib.  by  S.  S.  and  Tract  Union  of  the  Evan 
gelical  Mission.) 


CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  43 

At  the  top  were  two  lines  in  a  delicate 
feminine  hand,  saying,  "  I  hope  you  will  come 
around  to  our  meeting  to-morrow  night.  Salva 
tion  Hall,  up  on  Washington  Street,  you  know." 

But  I  have  forgotten  whether  Jim  went. 

The  Tech. 

A  Very  Young  Man. 

HE  was  a  young  man.  For  months  he  had 
worshipped  the  girl  in  blue,  who  sat  opposite 
him  in  the  parlour.  He  had  never  told  her  of 
his  love.  She  didn't  want  him  to.  He  had 
come  often  and  stayed  late.  She  could  only 
sigh  and  wait. 

He  was  about  to  leave  on  his  summer  vaca 
tion,  and  had  decided  to  spring  the  question 
uppermost  in  his  mind.  He  kept  it  to  himself 
until  the  last  moment.  It  was  11.30  by  the 
clock  on  the  mantel.  It  was  not  a  very  rapid 
clock. 

"  Miss  Edith,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  away  to 
morrow." 

"  Are  you  ? "  she  asked,  with  all  the  thought 
lessness  of  girlhood. 

She  gazed  tearfully  at  the  clock. 


44  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  are  you  sorry  ? " 
"  Very  sorry,"  she  murmured  ;  "  I  thought  you 
might  be  going  to-night." 

She  glanced  toward  his  chair.  He  had  van 
ished. 

K.  E.  H. 

Wrinkle. 

Her  Moral  Downfall. 

CHARLEY  certainly  was  happy  with  his  de 
voted  little  wife,  and  showed  in  every  possible 
way  how  dearly  he  loved  her  and  appreciated  all 
she  did  for  him.  Formerly  Charley  had  been  a 
club-man,  but  on  being  married  had  given  this 
life  up  for  a  time. 

The  attractions  of  club  life,  however,  were  in 
the  end  too  much  for  him,  and  the  frequent  press 
ing  invitations  were  not  to  be  resisted,  so  one 
evening  he  told  his  wife  that  he  was  going  out 
"  on  very  important  business,  my  dear,  and  will 
not  be  home  until  quite  late,"  and  departed,  leav 
ing  his  latch-key  in  the  left-hand  pocket  of  his 
other  trousers  —  as  usual.  Mrs.  Dirgee  paid  a 
call  upon  her  dearest  friend,  and  stayed  with  her 
all  evening,  talking  over  the  virtues  of  their  ab- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  45 

sent  acquaintances,  the  latest  fashions  in  chate 
laine  reticules,  the  rival  merits  of  cod-liver  oil 
and  Hood's  Sarsaparilla  as  a  tonic,  how  to 
fricassee  oysters,  and  other  choice  bits  of  fem 
inine  conversation.  When  she  got  home  she 
found  the  cook  had  taken  advantage  of  her 
master's  and  mistress's  absence,  and  had  gone 
to  call  on  her  dearest  friend,  too. 

The  prospect  of  being  alone  in  the  house,  for 
some  little  time,  was  by  no  means  a  pleasing 
one  to  Mrs.  D.,  even  though  she  was  not  a  very 
nervous  woman.  She  had  quite  a  little  courage, 
but  the  thought  of  all  that  silver  in  her  room 
made  her  rather  uneasy.  She  would  have  moved 
it  if  she  could,  but  it  was  too  heavy  for  her. 
However,  she  put  a  bold  face  on  the  matter, 
and  locking  up,  and  barricading  her  half-opened 
door  with  a  chair,  she  went  to  bed. 

About  half-past  eleven  she  woke  up  again. 
Neither  Charley  nor  the  girl  had  returned.  She 
began  to  feel  nervous.  A  beam  creaked  sharply 
and  frightened  her.  The  clicking  of  her  clock 
grew  louder  and  louder.  She  felt  as  if  she  were 
being  suffocated.  How  she  did  wish  Charley 
would  return !  She  felt  sure  that,  unless  he 
came  home  very  soon,  something  dreadful  would 


46  CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

happen.  She  began  to  get  very  nervous.  Bur 
glars  might  get  into  the  house  and  murder  her, 
and  steal  her  beloved  punch-bowl.  She  imag 
ined  she  could  hear  people  walking  around  in 
the  house.  They  might  get  in  at  a  window  — 
and  then,  with  a  dreadful  sinking  sensation,  she 
remembered  that  she  had  left  the  parlour  win 
dow  unfastened.  To  go  down  and  latch  it  now 
in  the  dark  and  cold  was  very  hard  to  do ;  but 
she  felt  that  she  must.  She  arose  in  bed  in 
order  to  go  down  and  do  so,  but  she  fell  back 
again,  trembling  with  fear,  and  in  a  cold  per 
spiration.  She  could  hear  the  parlour  window 
being  gently  raised !  Heaven  above  us,  bur 
glars  !  So  they  had  come  at  last !  Oh,  if 
Charley  were  only  here !  If  he  had  returned 
earlier,  she  was  sure  she  would  have  been  saved 
this.  She  would  be  murdered  ;  her  silver  punch 
bowl  would  be  stolen.  What  should  she  do  ? 
What  could  she  do  ?  If  Charley  were  here,  he 
could  shoot  them  ;  he  had  a  revolver.  She  might 
shoot  them  !  But  a  revolver  had  such  an  un 
comfortable  habit  of  going  off  the  wrong  way, 
and  she  knew  she  would  scream  when  it  was 
fired.  Charley  would  find  her  a  bleeding 
corpse  ;  and  she  found  herself  wondering 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  47 

whether    she    would    have    a    rosewood    or    a 
mahogany  coffin. 

By  this  time,  she  could  hear  the  burglar  in  the 
parlour.  He  stumbled  over  a  chair,  and  the 
sudden  racket  nearly  scared  poor  Mrs.  Dirgee 
to  death.  How  Charley  would  mourn  when  he 
found  his  little  wife  dead ;  she  knew  he  never 
would  get  over  it.  But  then,  dreadful  thought, 
he  might  marry  again  !  This  new,  horrible  idea 
stirred  Mrs.  Dirgee  to  action.  Something  must 
be  done  to  avert  such  a  dreadful  calamity.  She 
began  to  think  what  she  might  do  to  save  her 
loving  Charley.  Oh,  if  she  were  only  a  man ! 
What  would  a  man  do  ?  Would  he  get  up  and 
speak  to  the  burglars,  and  frighten  them  off? 
She  thought  she  might  do  that  at  any  rate. 
But  was  her  voice  deep  enough,  and  would  not 
a  man  use  very  dreadful  language  under  such 
circumstances  ?  She  felt  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  swear,  but  something  must  be  done  to 
save  her  life,  even  at  the  cost  of  her  reputation. 
So  she  got  quietly  out  of  bed,  trembling  vio 
lently,  stealthily  unbarricaded  the  door,  and 
crept  out  to  the  top  of  the  staircase.  She  could 
hear  the  burglar  coming  up  in  his  stocking-feet ; 
but  the  pitchy  darkness  hid  everything  from  her 


48  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

sight.  Summoning  all  her  courage,  she  called 
out  in  her  deepest  tones,  but  with  a  decided 
quaver :  "  Who  in  h — 1  is  down  there,  any 
how  ? "  And  there  came  up  out  of  the  dark 
ness  a  voice,  meek  but  not  unmixed  with 
surprise  :  "It  is  only  me,  dearest." 

WILLIAM  HASTINGS  EASTON. 

Red  and  Blue. 


A  Dream  of  Fair  Women. 

(In  a  Co-educational  College.) 

I  AM  not  in  the  habit  of  sleeping  over  my 
books,  but  a  fellow  will  doze  over  Ethics  in  the 
evening,  especially  after  a  ten-mile  tramp. 

I  was  just  reading  for  the  fifth  time,  "  Noth 
ing  can  be  a  good  except  in  relation  to  the 
sensibility  in  its  most  general  meaning.  If  we 
conceive  of  all  elements  of  feeling  struck  out  of 
existence" — when  I  found  myself  seated  in 
the  rear  of  the  chapel.  I  was  a  post-graduate. 
The  chapel  was  about  to  be  dismissed,  and  the 
president  had  said,  "  There  is  a  call  for  a  college 
meeting." 

Instinctively  I  arose,  as  had  been  my  habit, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  49 

and  waited  for  the  ladies  to  pass  out.  But  what 
did  I  see  ?  In  front  of  me  was  a  sea  of  hats, 
bonnets,  and  Tarn  o'  Shanters,  while  down  the 
aisle  came  a  handful  of  the  most  abject,  pitiful 
looking  youths  I  had  ever  beheld.  They  passed 
out  huddled  together  as  if  for  mutual  support 
and  protection.  I  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  and 
was  hardly  conscious  of  the  glances  of  surprise 
and  scorn  cast  at  me  from  all  sides.  I  was  evi 
dently  considered  beneath  their  notice,  for  the 
president  of  the  Senior  Class,  a  pretty  miss  of 
about  eighteen,  mounted  the  platform,  and,  in 
a  rich  alto  voice,  requested  somebody  to  state 
the  object  of  the  meeting.  A  damsel  from  the 
Junior  Class  arose  and  thus  addressed  the 
chair  :  "  A  report  has  been  circulating  through 
out  the  newspapers,  to  the  effect  that  Wesleyan 
at  one  time  in  history  had  both  a  football  and 
baseball  team.  We  feel  that  such  reports  are 
contrary  to  the  best  interest  of  the  college,  and 
I  move  an  absolute  denial  of  the  slander."  The 
motion  was  seconded  and  passed,  and  I  turned 
to  go,  but  the  movement  aroused  me,  and  I 
woke  to  find  the  page  before  me  wet  with  tears. 

JOHN  A.  THOMPSON. 
Wesleyan  Literary  MontJily. 


5O  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


A  Magazine  Story. 

"  IT'S  so  tiresome  !  "  said  Polly. 

"  I  suppose  I  should  think  so,  too,  if  I  knew 
what  you  were  talking  about,"  said  I. 

"  Love  stories  are  all  alike,"  said  she,  throw 
ing  the  magazine  upon  the  floor. 

"  Ah,"  said  I.  "  In  magazines,  do  you  mean, 
or  in  life  ? "  I  picked  up  the  magazine  and  it 
opened  of  itself  to  some  "  storiettes." 

''I'm  only  eighteen,"  said  Polly,  "so  I  can't 
judge  of  life." 

"  Well,  you  were  going  to  remark  —  "  sug 
gested  I,  looking  straight  into  her  brown  eyes. 
(If  she  had  been  more  than  eighteen  she  would 
have  dropped  them.) 

"The  man  always  asks  the  girl's  advice. 
We'll  call  the  girl  —  well,  Susan.  There  is  a 
girl  he  loves  passionately,  but  he  dares  not  tell 
her.  What  would  Susan  advise  him  ?  Susan 
stifles  her  own  grief,  for  she  loves  him,  and 
says,  ( By  all  means  tell  her  you  love  her.' 
Thereupon  he  tells  Susan  he  loves  her.  And 
there  is  great  surprise  and  joy  on  her  part,  and 
the  story  ends." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  51 

"Would  you  think  it  tiresome  if  you  were 
Susan  ?  "  said  I. 

"I  don't  know."  (I  don't  believe  she's 
more  than  seventeen.)  "  I  mean  it's  tiresome 
because  any  girl  would  know  what  he  meant, 
you  see ! " 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  "  I  don't  believe  you  were  ever 
in  love." 

"  Dear  me,  no !  "  said  Polly. 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  said  Polly,  after  a 
hopeful  pause. 

"I'm  not  surprised,"  said  I. 

"There's  one  other  kind  of  love  story.  It's 
even  more  tiresome  than  the  first." 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  said  I.  (Love  stories  in 
magazines  may  be  tiresome  ! ) 

"  In  this  other  kind,  Susan  knows  that  he 
means  her,  you  see,  and  she  advises  him  just 
the  same ;  but  unfortunately  he  really  means 
another  girl." 

"Yes,  that  is  rather  tiresome." 

"In  the  first  one,"  said  Polly,  "Susan 
grieves,  then  rejoices  for  ever.  In  the  second, 
she  rejoices,  then  grieves  for  ever." 

"  In  magazine  love  stories  ?  " 

"Oh,"   said    Polly,   "I'm   not    talking   about 


52  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

life.     Girls  don't  grieve  for  ever  in  life.     They 
haven't  time." 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  said  I,  after  a  hopeless 
pause.  "  In  both  of  those  cases  the  girl  loves 
the  man ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Polly,  " that's  the  tiresome  part." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  !  "  said  I. 

"  But  you're  a  man,  you  see,"  said  she. 

"Polly,"  said  I,  "are  you  a  sympathetic 
person  ? " 

"At  times,"  said  Polly. 

"Well,  I'm  in  love." 

Polly  looked  interested.  "Does  she  know 
it  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  told  her.  Would 
you  risk  it  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Polly,  "I  wouldn't." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well,  this  isn't  a  magazine  story,  it's  life. 
And  Susan  really  doesn't  love  the  man  in  either 
case." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  I. 

I  am  afraid  Polly  prevaricated  when  she  said 
she  was  only  eighteen. 

MAUDE  LOUISE  RAY. 

Vassar  Miscellany. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  53 


Divine  Aid. 

A  SEVERE-LOOKING  maid  opened  the  door. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"  Is  Miss  Tabitha  Hopkins  at  home  ? "  I 
asked. 

"She's  waiting  for  you." 

"Evidently,"  I  thought,  "my  great -aunt 
keeps  her  maid  informed  of  her  doings."  My 
great-aunt  had  sent  for  me  to  come  to  her. 
She  owned  many  thousands  in  her  own  name, 
and  perhaps  this  compulsory  visit  meant  much 
to  me.  I  hope  that  I  am  not  too  mercenary, 
but  I  own  that  the  prospect  was  not  displeas 
ing. 

The  maid  threw  open  the  door  and  I  entered 
the  parlour.  It  had  a  faded,  musty  smell,  but 
looked  new,  and  evidently  had  looked  so  for  a 
long  time.  Each  piece  of  furniture  was  placed 
at  exactly  the  right  angle.  A  glance  was  suffi 
cient  to  convince  one  that  it  had  been  replaced 
precisely  in  the  same  position  for  many  years. 
All  the  chairs  had  white  worsted  doilies  pinned 
to  their  backs.  On  the  mantel  was  a  glass  case 
containing  wax  flowers.  Before  the  fireplace 


54  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

was  a  narrow  table,  with  nothing  but  a  fringed 
cover  and  a  large  Bible  upon  it. 

My  great -aunt  rose  to  meet  me.  She  was  a 
little  old  lady  of  about  seventy,  dressed  in  black 
silk. 

"  This  is  Robert  Hopkins  ? "  she  said. 

"It  is,"  I  answered.  I  was  greatly  em 
barrassed. 

"  Sit  down,  Robert ;  I  wish  to  talk  with 
you." 

I  sat  down  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  and 
my  aunt  on  the  other.  The  narrow  table  was 
between  us.  I  felt  an  almost  irresistible 
impulse  to  laugh. 

"  For  a  young  man  of  the  present  times,  your 
appearance  is  passable." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said. 

"There  is  no  need.  You  are  none  of  you 
half  the  gentlemen  your  grandfathers  were." 

I  bowed. 

"Don't  do  that,"  she  said,  sharply.  "You 
make  me  nervous." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  If  you  are  worthy  of  it,  I  intend  to  leave 
you  my  fortune.  Now  answer  my  questions." 

"  Oh,  aunt,  this  is  so  sudden,"  I  said. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  55 

"  Sudden  ?  What  do  you  suppose  I  sent  for 
you  for  ?  Have  you  no  brains  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  shortly.     I  was  nettled. 

"  Well,  try  to  develop  some.  Do  you  believe 
in  the  Word  ?  " 

"  Whose  word  ?  "  I  asked,  bewildered. 

"  Are  you  a  religious  young  man  ?  " 

«  Oh !  —  No,  I'm  afraid  not  —  very." 

"That's  very  bad.      I  am." 

"  A  religious  young  man  ? "  I  ventured. 

My  aunt  looked  undecided  for  a  minute,  and 
then  laughed.  I  was  getting  on. 

"  I  like  you  for  admitting  it,"  she  said ; 
"but  what  do  you  depend  on  for  your  moral 
guidance  ? " 

"  Honour,"  I  replied. 

She  positively  smiled. 

"  Ah !  that  sounds  like  your  grandfather. 
Have  you  any  bad  habits  ? " 

"  What  do  you  call  bad  habits  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Do  you  drink?" 

"  Occasionally." 

"  Every  day  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Do  you  smoke  ? " 

"  Yes." 


56  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"Well,"  she  said,  "you  may." 

This  was  rather  sudden,  but  I  produced  a 
cigar.  I  struck  a  match,  lighted  my  cigar 
(what  a  concession ! )  and  threw  the  match 
beneath  the  table  toward  the  fireplace.  Un 
fortunately,  it  caught  in  the  fringe.  In  a 
moment  little  flames  were  curling  along  the 
edge  of  the  table  -  cloth  !  My  great  -  aunt 
screamed.  I  tried  to  extinguish  the  fire  with 
my  hands,  but  only  succeeded  in  burning  them. 
Then  a  brilliant  idea  struck  me !  I  seized  the 
great  Bible,  opened  it,  and  closed  it  with  a  bang 
over  the  curling  flames.  My  great-aunt  started 
up. 

"  Go  !  "  she  said,  pointing  toward  the  door. 

"  Wha —  what's  the  matter  ? "  I  asked,  taken 
aback. 

"Go  !     You  have  desecrated  the  Book." 

"  Why — why,  I  only  extinguished  the  fire  with 
divine  aid.  See  how  well  the  Bible  served  us." 

My  aunt's  arm  slowly  dropped. 

"  It  saved  us,"  I  urged,  eagerly.  "  See.  The 
fire  did  not  mark  it." 

She  looked  at  the  Bible  and  then  at  me.  "  I 
believe  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "  It  was  divine 
aid.  That  settles  it," 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  57 

I  was  too  bewildered  to  understand  what  my 
aunt  meant  then,  —  but  the  fortune  is  settled 
on  me.  ROY  M.  MASON. 

Yale  Courant. 

Alpha  and  Omega. 

A  FRESHMAN  of  social  pretensions  was  noti 
fied  at  the  end  of  his  first  year  that  he  had 
been  elected  to  the  first  eight  of  the  Alpha 
Omega  Society.  He  paid  the  initiation  fee  of 
$50,  and  was  duly  initiated  by  about  twenty -five 
sportive  Sophomores. 

After  the  ceremonies  the  society  adjourned 
to  Delmonico's,  where  a  fine  dinner  awaited  its 
members.  When  all  had  feasted,  and  the  cham 
pagne  had  begun  to  flow,  the  president  arose 
and  said  :  "  Gentlemen  :  For  the  benefit  of  our 
new  member  (applause),  I  feel  it  my  duty  to 
explain  what  is  of  course  well  known  to  you 
(You  bet !),  but  what  must  often  have  puzzled 
him  (Hear,  hear  ! ).  I  allude  to  the  name  of  this 
gloriashoshashun  (applause).  Sir,  the  Alpha 
Omega  Society  is  so  called  because  this  is  its 
first  and  last  meeting." 

The  Morningside. 


58  CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


A  Swimming  Race* 

"  TIMERS  ready  !  Get  set !  "  the  starter  cries. 
"  Crack  !  "  goes  the  pistol,  and  six  lithe,  scantily 
clad  fellows  dive  into  the  water  like  so  many 
peas  blown  from  a  pea-shooter.  Just  beyond 
the  circle  of  ripples  caused  by  the  dives,  after 
several  seconds,  six  dripping  mops  of  hair  reap 
pear,  one  by  one.  Each  swimmer  draws  in  a 
deep,  quick  breath,  and  then,  with  head  under 
water,  speeds  along  toward  a  red  flag  marking 
the  22o-yard  stake. 

«  Rah  !  Rah  !  Rah  !  Church  !  —  Go  it,  Hath 
away  !  "  shout  the  onlookers,  thronging  the  pier 
and  sitting  in  the  boats  closely  crowded  together 
along  the  course.  As  soon  as  the  swimmers  are 
by,  the  fleet  of  cutters,  tenders,  and  dories  on 
both  sides  of  the  course  come  together  with  a 
rush,  marring  the  varnish  on  the  side  of  many  a 
natty-looking  gig.  The  onlookers,  however,  are 
heedless  of  this  trifle.  To  gain  a  better  view, 
many  even  stand  upon  the  unsteady  thwarts  of 
the  boats,  looking  over  a  gay  scene  of  yachting- 
caps,  straw  hats  with  variously  coloured  college 
ribbons,  white  duck  trousers  and  skirts,  moving 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  59 

parasols,  and  sun-tanned,  enthusiastic  faces.  In 
the  hot  glare  cast  by  the  sun  upon  the  trem 
bling  water,  the  observers  see  several  black 
objects  bobbing  toward  the  red  buoy  and  flag. 
Then  a  sustained  cheer  announces  that  the  race 
is  half  over,  and  that  the  return  course  has  been 
begun. 

A  naphtha  launch,  going  at  half  speed  and 
whistling  shrill  toots,  drives  back  from  the 
course  the  maze  of  small  boats.  From  this 
launch  a  man  calls  out,  in  answer  to  numer 
ous  questions,  that  the  swimmers  are  on  the 
way  back,  and  that  the  dark-haired  man  in 
the  maroon  shirt  has  a  little  the  best  of  it 
over  the  tall  fellow  in  black.  Whereupon  a 
small  lad  sitting  in  the  stern  of  a  yacht's 
tender,  and  holding  a  maroon  cap  and  a 
sweater  with  a  "  C  "  upon  it,  jumps  up,  shrieks 
out :  "  Whee  !  Harry's  ahead  ! "  and  tosses  the 
cap  into  the  air.  It  lights  upon  the  water  and 
is  rescued  with  an  oar,  while  blood-red  drops  of 
salt  water  drip  from  it. 

Once  more  the  swimmers  come  into  view. 
They  are  swimming  in  pairs,  the  hindmost  men 
hopelessly  behind.  The  next  two  are  hotly 
contending  for  place  with  a  man  in  black, 


60  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

who  is  but  two  feet  behind  "the  dark-haired 
man  in  the  maroon  shirt."  As  they  come 
along  they  seem  like  a  school  of  porpoises, 
each  turning  his  head  to  catch  a  breath  of 
air  and  see  the  direction,  then  poking  it  under 
the  water,  now  raising  one  arm  forward  above 
the  surface  of  the  water  with  clock-like  regu 
larity,  like  a  glistening  fin,  then  disappearing 
completely.  Suddenly  the  man  in  black  changes 
his  stroke  from  the  English  racing  stroke  to  the 
wearisome  Trojan,  one  hand  alternating  with 
the  other  in  sharply,  surely  cutting  the  water, 
then  springing  back  while  the  swimmer  liter 
ally  jumps  ahead.  "  Go,  go,  go,  Hathaway ! 
Rah!  Rah!  Rah!"  shout  the  crowd.  But 
above  all  this  noise  a  shrill  voice  pipes : 
"  Harry,  Harry,  Harry  !  "  And  Harry  hears. 
He,  too,  changes  his  stroke,  and  half-raising 
himself  from  the  water,  like  the  sails  on  a 
windmill,  his  arms  beat  down,  hurling  him 
across  the  tape  a  winner  by  a  foot. 

R.  T.  ROGERS. 
University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  6 1 


As  Old  as  May. 

THE  warm  May  breeze  blew  a  shower  of 
white  cherry  petals  in  at  the  window.  A  girl 
was  sitting  there  reading  a  letter,  but  as  the 
petals  fell  into  her  lap,  she  stopped  a  moment 
and  smiled  out  at  the  cherry-tree.  Then  she 
went  on  reading.  The  letter  was  from  her 
married  sister,  some  ten  years  older  than 
she. 

"  Your  letters  have  been  saying  a  good  deal 
lately  about  some  young  man  friend  of  yours," 
the  letter  ran.  "  I  don't  know  how  much  you 
see  of  him,  or  how  much  you  think  of  him  ;  but, 
oh,  Floy,  before  you  begin  to  think  much  of 
any  man,  be  careful.  You  are  an  impulsive  girl, 
—  too  impulsive,  I'm  afraid.  Maybe  this  is  all 
unnecessary,  and  there  haven't  any  ideas  of 
marriage  ever  entered  your  head  ;  but,  Floy, 
believe  what  I  tell  you,  —  I  wouldn't  say  it  to 
any  one  but  you,  —  a  woman  never  knows  any 
thing  about  a  man  until  she  is  married  to  him. 
There  isn't  a  woman  that  don't  wish  within  six 
months  that  she'd  never  gotten  married,  and 
there  ain't  one  in  ten  that  don't  keep  on  wishing 


62  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

either  that,  or  that  she  had  a  chance  to  choose 
over  again." 

The  girl  laid  down  the  letter  and  smiled  out 
at  the  cherry-tree  once  more.  Then  she  picked 
up  a  picture  off  the  bureau  —  it  was  the  face  of 
a  good-looking  young  man,  with  a  weak  mouth 
and  retreating  chin  —  and  kissed  it. 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

First  Conversation:    Across  the  Fence* 

As  I  turned  the  corner  I  had  a  confused 
vision  of  some  one  vainly  struggling  with  the 
heights  of  the  fence  on  the  left.  "  A  fair  maid 
in  distress,"  was  my  silent  comment.  I  strode 
forward,  but  contemplated  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  She  gave  a  sob  of  defeat,  and  fell  back 
to  the  sidewalk  ;  at  which  I  looked  around. 

She  was  leaning  against  the  fence,  breathing 
rapidly,  her  face,  as  it  seemed  in  the  dusk,  red 
dened  by  her  exertion  and  ill  success.  She 
looked  at  me  appealingly.  "  Would  it  be  pre 
sumptuous,"  said  I,  doffing  my  cap,  "for  me  to 
offer  my  humble  services  in  any  way  ? " 

"  You  see,"  she  began  in  embarrassment,  "  I 
must  be  back  in  time  for  evening  prayers,  but 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  63 

the  only  gate  is  around  in  front,  and  this  fence," 
she  looked  vengefully  at  the  offending  structure, 
"is  so  high." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  I,  striving  to  look  en 
lightened. 

"  I'd  be  sure  to  get  caught  if  I  went  in  at  the 
gate,"  she  continued.  "  And  it  was  only,"  she 
added,  pitifully,  "  to  get  a  glass  of  soda." 

"  No  one  is  in  sight,"  I  began,  holding  out  my 
arms,  "and  — "  I  paused,  for  she  had  drawn 
herself  up  very  sternly.  I  twirled  my  cap  in 
perplexity.  Then  I  had  a  happy  thought.  "  If 
I  should  bend  down,"  I  began  again,  "you  might 
step  on  my  back,  grasp  the  fence,  and  — 

At  a  guess  I  should  say  she  weighs,  well  —  a 
hundred. 

"Thank  you,"  said  she  from  the  other  side 
of  the  fence. 

"  Evening  prayers  don't  begin  quite  yet,  do 
they  ?  "  I  ventured,  since  she  seemed  on  the 
point  of  leaving. 

"  Well,  no-o,"  she  admitted  ;  "  but  very  soon." 

"  How  many  girls  are  there  in  the  school  ? " 
I  asked,  at  a  loss  how  else  to  open  the  conver 
sation. 

"  About  thirty,"  she  said. 


64  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Whew  !  "  said  I,  mopping  my  brow,  "  soda 
is  good  these  hot  days  ! " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  isn't  it !  and  don't 
you  like  strawberry  best  ? " 

"Of  course," -I  agreed,  and  then  regretted 
lying,  for  it  might  have  been  made  a  subject  for 
discussion. 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  be  going,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  often  go  for  soda  at  this  hour  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  to-day  was  the  first  time." 

"  But  you  will  again  ? " 

"  But  the  fence  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  that's  been  —  " 

"  Well  ? " 

"  To-morrow,  won't  you  ? " 

"  I  can't  tell." 

"  I  shall  wait  on  the  other  side  of  the  street." 

"  Really  ? "  And  then  the  sound  of  the  bell 
came  from  the  house,  and  she  ran  across  the 
garden.  She  runs  well. 

RICHARD  HOOKER. 
Yale  Literary  Magazine. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  65 


Johnny* 

WE  had  planned  an  all-day  drive  through  the 
beautiful  country  near  Norfolk,  and  by  nine  in 
the  morning  were  well  started  on  our  way. 
Mother  had  promised  to  stifle  her  usual  lack  of 
confidence  in  my  horsemanship,  so  in  the  gayest 
of  spirits  we  found  ourselves  speeding  over  the 
road  toward  Colebrook. 

I  always  believed  that  when  mother  got  out 
of  the  carriage  "for  blackberries,"  it  was  only 
that  she  might  have  a  few  moments  of  free  and 
easy  breathing  on  the  kind  of  "  terra  "  that  was 
absolutely  firma,  where  she  could  regulate  her 
own  speed. 

My  little  horse  and  I  were  climbing  slowly  up 
the  hill,  when  suddenly  I  heard  a  voice  by  my 
side,  "  Oh,  once-t  I  killed  a  adder ! "  The 
dearest  little  face,  belonging  to  a  boy  about  nine, 
was  looking  up  at  me  from  the  blackberry 
bushes  by  the  side  of  the  road.  He  climbed  in 
with  mother  and  myself,  and  we  took  him  home  ; 
t  although  his  face  lighted  up  when  we  talked 
with  him,  and  he  perfectly  understood,  yet  he 
could  say  nothing,  apparently,  beyond  his  one 


66  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

remark  about  "a  adder."  We  were  beginning 
to  think  him  a  little  too  much  of  a  mystery,  and 
I  resolved  to  know  more  about  him. 

We  learned  that  he  had  been  dumb  for  some 
time,  and  had  been  in  a  school  for  mutes  two 
years.  They  had  been  able  to  teach  him  noth 
ing,  but  one  day  he  astonished  them  all  with 
the  remark,  "  Oh,  once-t  I  killed  a  adder  !  " 

Johnny  and  I  became  the  fastest  of  friends, 
and  were  together  a  great  deal  during  the 
summer.  I  tried  very  hard  to  teach  him  my 
name,  saying,  over  and  over  again,  "  Miss  Flor 
ence,  don't  forget."  To  my  delight  he  began 
to  make  sounds,  out  of  which  I  frantically  en 
deavoured  to  make  "  Florence."  He  never  got 
any  farther  than  "  My  Florence,  don't  forget," 
and  "  My  Florence "  it  remained  to  the  end  of 
his  life. 

One  day  quite  late  in  the  fall,  Johnny's  mother 
sent  for  me  very  suddenly.  I  found  my  little 
friend  very  ill. 

That  night,  as  I  sat  by  him,  he  suddenly 
stretched  out  both  his  arms  to  me,  and  the  piti 
ful  little  voice  said,  "  Oh,  my  Florence,  don't 
forget  —  once-t  I  killed  a  adder !  "  It  had 
always  been  his  only  way  of  making  me  feel 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  67 

what  he  meant,  and  I  could  always  understand. 
Johnny  was  sorry  to  leave  me,  and  all  the  sorrow 
of  his  little  soul  was  fully  expressed  in  the  lan 
guage  of  his  one  great  exploit.  Could  I  ever 
forget  it,  with  all  its  variations  of  meaning,  that 
Johnny  had  once-t  killed  a  adder? 

FLORENCE  E.  WILDER. 

The  Mount  Holyoke. 

The  First  Time, 

"  WON'T  you  have  one  ? "  I  leaned  forward 
in  my  chair,  one  hand  on  my  knee,  the  other 
holding  out  a  box  of  cigarettes.  She  looked 
wistfully  at  it. 

"  I'd  like  to  try  it  ever  so  much,  but  —  oh, 
well,  they'll  never  find  out,  anyhow.  You'll 
promise  not  to  tell  any  one,  won't  you  ?" 

"  I  shouldn't  think  of  it,"  I  replied,  reaching 
them  out  temptingly. 

"  You  shouldn't  think  —  " 

"  Of  telling,  I  mean,"  and  I  tossed  them  into 
her  lap. 

Bending  forward,  she  took  one  out,  and,  hold 
ing  it  between  her  thumb  and  forefinger,  lighted 
it  clumsily.  Then  she  put  it  to  her  lips,  and, 


68  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

taking  a  couple  of  puffs,  laid  it  down  in  the  little 
bronze  ash  tray  beside  her.  I  took  a  long  pull 
at  my  cigar  and  leaned  back  to  watch  the  smoke 
float  upward,  until  it  joined  the  long,  stringy 
cloud  that  waved  across  the  room. 

"  I  wonder  when  Alice  will  be  back,"  she 
said,  finally.  "  I  don't  even  know  where  she's 
gone." 

"Neither  do  I,"  I  responded,  "but  I  don't 
care.  If  you  find  this  amusing,  I'm  sure  it 
satisfies  me." 

She  took  another  puff  at  her  cigarette,  and,  as 
she  held  it,  a  thin  blue  line  of  smoke  curled  up 
from  the  tip,  and  drifted  across  the  little  table, 
until  it  was  sucked  up  by  the  hot  air  rising  from 
the  lamp.  Whenever  Alice  had  to  leave  her 
visitors  for  an  evening,  I  was  expected  to  amuse 
them,  and  when  the  family  was  out  the  easiest 
way  was  to  give  them  cigarettes.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  none  of  them,  so  far,  had  refused  the 
offer. 

I  turned  to  see  how  she  was  getting  on.  The 
cigarette  was  pretty  low  —  she  had  burned  up 
half  in  lighting  it. 

"  How  is  it  ?  "  I  said,  smiling. 

"  It   is   perfectly  horrid,"  she  replied.     She 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  69 

leaned  back,  throwing  one  arm  over  the  back  of 
the  chair,  looking  down  at  the  other  hand  where 
it  lay  in  her  lap.  A  line  of  smoke  drifted  along 
the  stump. 

"It  tastes  —  oh,  my!  it's  all  in  my  nose  and 
my  eyes.  I  hate  the  nasty  thing !  Here,  take 
it." 

Then,  after  a  pause  : 

"And  it  leaves  an  awful  taste  in  my  mouth, 
too.  I'll  never  touch  another  one." 

It  was  three  weeks  later,  after  her  visit  was 
over  and  she  was  gone,  that  I  received  a  note 
from  her. 

"Please  burn  this,  after  you  have  read  it," 
she  wrote,  "  but  won't  you  tell  me  what  sort  of 
cigarettes  those  were  ?  " 

Harvard  Advocate. 

My  First  Boat-race* 

IT  was  my  first  boat-race.  After  six  months' 
hard  training  I  had  at  last  made  the  crew.  I 
was  perhaps  a  little  more  nervous  than  the  rest. 
I  remember  thinking,  at  the  start,  how  I  was 
ever  going  to  jam  my  legs  down,  for,  from  ner 
vousness,  every  bit  of  strength  seemed  to  have 


7O  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

left  them.  I  looked  around  at  the  crowd  of 
boats  in  a  bewildered  fashion  as  if  wondering 
what  they  were  doing  there.  Suddenly  the 
referee  said  "  Ready."  Every  muscle  tightened. 
All  my  energies  concentrated  on  the  start. 
"  Go."  We  were  off.  For  the  first  few  strokes 
I  could  hear  nothing,  see  nothing,  feel  nothing. 
Gradually  I  discovered  I  was  keeping  time.  I 
recognised  the  neck  of  the  man  in  front  of  me. 
I  heard  the  voice  of  the  coxswain.  That  was 
all.  Suddenly  a  cannon  boomed  almost  behind 
my  ear,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  knocked 
overboard.  The  sweat  began  to  pour  down 
my  back  only  to  be  replaced  by  the  spray,  for 
it  was  a  rough  day.  I  saw  the  mile  flag  pass, 
out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye.  I  knew  the  race 
was  half  over.  On  !  on  !  was  it  never  going  to 
end  ?  I  could  feel  nothing,  though  I  knew  I 
must  be  doing  my  part.  Suddenly  the  coxswain 
shouted,  "  For  God's  sake,  boys,  pull !  One 
hundred  yards  more  and  Yale  is  still  ahead." 
We  gave  a  last  dying  effort  and  crossed  the 
line.  I  looked  around.  We  were  beaten  by 
half  a  length,  but  Harvard  was  ten  lengths 
behind. 

The  Morningside. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  71 


Economy. 

THE  streets  were  deluged  with  moonlight. 
The  ground  was  frozen  hard ;  it  felt  like  stone 
under  our  feet.  The  air  had  the  pleasantness 
in  our  throats  of  cold  water  after  a  dusty  drive. 
We  had  been  together  to  see  Julia  Arthur  in 
"  A  Lady  of  Quality,"  Miss  W.  and  I.  As  all 
the  seats  on  the  ground  floor  had  been  taken, 
we  had  bought  balcony  seats ;  and  as  we  had 
been  alone  we  had  come  home  immediately 
after  the  theatre,  instead  of  going  first  to 
supper.  While  walking  rapidly  from  the  car 
to  our  house,  we  were  counting  up  how  much 
money  we  had  saved  in  this  way,  and  were 
congratulating  ourselves  hilariously  on  our  wise 
economy. 

As  we  passed  a  row  of  little  stores  on  Fifty- 
fifth  Street,  we  saw  one  still  brightly  lighted. 
Within,  on  the  wide  wooden  sill  of  the  window, 
among  torn  and  rumpled  newspapers,  lay  a  two- 
year-old  child  asleep.  Beyond,  stood  the  child's 
mother,  the  little  woman  to  whom  we  take  our 
laundry.  Her  dingy,  clinging  calico  wrapper 
showed  how  bony  her  shoulders  were,  how  hoi- 


72  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

low  her  chest.  Her  thin  face,  though  wet  with 
perspiration,  was  without  colour  ;  it  was  haggard, 
and  set  in  lines  of  terrible  weariness.  Her 
prominent  blue  eyes  were  more  staring  than 
usual.  She  was  ironing  still,  at  twelve  o'clock ; 
ironing  collars  at  three  cents  each. 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

In  the  Afternoon  Car. 

BY  late  afternoon  the  car  was  almost  crowded, 
but  the  young  man  of  the  foremost  seat  did  not 
know  it.  A  large  box  of  sweet  peas  filled  the 
rest  of  the  seat ;  he  held  a  book,  and  from  time 
to  time  read  a  page,  but  for  the  most  part 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

The  day  had  been  hot ;  it  was  still  gray, 
smoky,  sombre.  But  to  him  the  world  was 
exquisitely  beautiful.  As  they  flashed  by,  he 
saw  a  thousand  details  he  had  never  caught 
before.  The  fallow  brown  of  newly  ploughed 
fields  delighted  him  ;  a  man  at  the  plough  was 
guiding  a  shambling  gray  horse,  and  trotting 
along  in  the  furrows,  driving  him  with  a  piece 
of  string  and  a  dead  stick,  came  his  little  boy, 
whose  pinafore  had  taken  on  the  exact  shade  of 


CAP    AND   GOWN   IN    PROSE  73 

the  fresh-turned  earth  ;  a  yellow  cur,  very  active 
as  to  tail,  followed  them.  Then  the  track  ran 
for  several  miles  by  what  had  once  been  a  busy 
canal,  now  disused,  stagnant,  covered  over  with 
scum  of  that  extraordinary  green  the  impres 
sionist  painters  alone  know.  Steering  a  cranky 
boat  stood  a  girl  in  a  scarlet  gown,  like  a  jungle- 
blossom. 

He  found  his  thoughts  breaking  into  metre 
and  rhyme ;  tag-ends  of  unwritten  songs,  it 
seemed,  were  floating  through  his  brain,  which, 
when  he  tried  to  catch  them,  slipped  through 
his  ringers,  and,  breaking,  spoiled  his  mere  joy 
in  the  beauty  outside ;  so  he  left  off  trying. 
Nevertheless,  his  heart  was  crooning  to  itself  a 
song  without  words ;  her  face  changed  into 
melody,  and  the  remembered  touch  of  her  hand, 
blending  with  it,  gave  the  chord. 

"  Six  o'clock  !  six  o'clock  !  six  o'clock  !  "  said 
the  car-wheels  as  they  hurried  on.  The  sky 
was  all  gray  except  in  one  place,  where  the  sun 
set  fire  had  eaten  almost  through,  and  gave 
there  a  red  shine  as  of  flame  through  porcelain. 
The  time  of  the  car-wheels  changed  :  "  In  half 
an  hour !  half  an  hour !  half  an  hour !  "  they 
sang.  The  young  man  fancied  his  deep  delight 


74  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

must  shine  through  his  face,  as  the  sunset  glory 
was  shining  through  the  clouds. 

GEORGIANA   GODDARD   KING. 

The  Bryn  Mawr  Lantern. 

His  First  Race. 

THE  announcer,  greeted  by  the  odour  of  lini 
ment  as  he  pokes  his  head  in  the  doorway  of 
the  dressing-room,  sings  out :  "  All  out  for  the 
mile  run,  and  get  a  hustle  on  you,  too,  for  the 
events  are  dragging  !  " 

A  number  of  active  fellows,  clad  in  the  usual 
running  costume  and  wrapped  up  in  bath-robes 
and  blankets,  soon  follow  this  busybody  to  the 
starting  tape.  They  are  all  tall,  mature,  solid- 
looking  chaps,  except  one,  whose  boyish  air, 
emphasised  by  his  curly,  light-coloured  hair  and 
small,  springy  figure,  makes  him  seem  somewhat 
out  of  place  among  these  experienced  giants. 

There  is  little  time  to  think  before  the  starter, 
not  deigning  to  look  at  the  crowded  grand  stand, 
nor  to  hear  the  eager  words  of  encouragement 
from  the  friends  of  the  contestants,  calls,  warn- 
ingly,  "  Are  you  ready  ? "  Several  of  the  white- 
suited  athletes,  who  are  digging  small  holes  in 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  75 

the  running  path  with  the  toes  of  their  spiked 
shoes,  stop  as  the  order,  "  On  your  marks !  "  is 
heard  ;  then,  all  bracing  themselves,  with  weight 
well  forward,  arms  extended  —  one  in  front,  one 
behind  —  at  the  command,  "  Get  set !  "  are  off 
in  a  bunch  at  the  pistol  shot. 

The  pace  is  "pretty  stiff"  for  a  mile,  but 
"the  little  fellow,"  as  some  one  on  the  bleachers 
advises,  "  holds  it." 

What  fun  it  is  for  him  to  see  the  bright  rib 
bons  and  gay  costumes  of  the  women,  who 
smile  at  him.  The  "  rooters  "  shout  "  Go  !  Go  ! 
Go  !  "  How  light  his  tireless  legs  feel  as  they 
rise  and  fall ;  his  feet  seem  barely  to  touch  the 
ground.  He  notices  the  gradual  turn  in  the 
track,  the  bill-boards  with  various  coloured  signs, 
the  green  grass,  the  yellow  clay  baseball  dia 
mond,  now  hidden  for  a  moment  by  the  back 
stop.  Then  he  passes  the  sign,  painted  in  white 
letters,  "  Start,  880  yds.  ; "  next  the  grand  stand 
on  the  right  reappears.  As  he  bounds  along, 
one  lap  finished,  he  catches  one  glimpse  of  a 
pretty  girl  in  a  duck  suit  who  wears  his  ribbon. 

The  cheers  die  away.  He  looks  up  from  the 
corner  of  his  eye  and  sees  the  perspiration  stand 
ing  out  on  the  man  to  his  right. 


76  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

He  determines. that  that  lone  man  ahead  of 
him  by  only  a  fewfeet  shall  gain  no  more. 

How  worn  the  edge  of  the  upright  board 
bounding  the  track  is.  There,  too,  is  some 
burned  sand  beside  it.  He  hears  the  deep 
nose-breathing  and  the  methodical  pum-pum  as 
the  spikes  in  the  shoes  of  the  runners  behind 
him  hit  the  track.  The  sun  is  beating  down 
very  warmly,  too  warmly,  and  makes  his  throat 
feel  parched.  The  gaseous,  hot  air  rising  from 
the  track  gives  everything  a  dizzy  appearance. 
Suddenly  his  chest  feels  full  of  hot  coals.  He 
catches  a  glimpse  of  the  trainer,  and  wonders  if 
the  words  he  has  overheard  this  friend  say  are 
true:  "Jamie  has  lots  of  grit."  No,  they  are 
not,  for  he  wants  to  tumble  over  on  the  grass 
and  cry,  to  hide  his  face,  to  get  away  from 
everybody. 

But  the  race  is  two-thirds  over,  for  here  is  the 
grand  stand  again  ;  sort  of  moving  about  appar 
ently  and  kicking  up  a  big  rumpus  ;  he  wonders 
what  about.  Yet  the  noise  gives  him  heart  and 
he  forges  ahead  of  the  man  on  his  right  and 
strives  to  gain  more  on  the  fellow  ahead,  mov 
ing  with  long,  sure  strides. 

Six  feet  never  seemed  such  a  distance  before. 


CAP    AND   GOWN   IN    PROSE  77 

He  grits  his  teeth,  runs  his  nails  into  the  corks 
in  his  hands  and  stares  resolutely  ahead.  The 
perspiration,  rolling  down  in  little  streams,  is  no 
longer  felt.  He  doesn't  realise  now  that  he 
has  a  body.  The  running  is  mechanical  —  up, 
down  ;  up,  down.  That  fellow  is  ahead.  Every 
thing  grows  very  dim  and  far-away  looking. 
He  must  go  faster,  something  seems  to  say. 
That  fellow  is  no  longer  in  front  of  him.  Where 
did  he  disappear  ?  What  is  that  noise  straining 
along  by  his  side  ?  Is  that  the  grand  stand 
ahead  coming  toward  him  as  though  mad,  cheer 
ing  and  yelling,  jumping  up  and  down  like  a 
monkey  on  a  string  ?  Can  he  ever  reach  those 
things  sticking  up  there  with  something  shining 
in  front  of  them  ?  They  must  be  the  timers ; 
the  bright  things  watches.  But  no,  he  can't, 
for  the  men  are  gone.  He  stumbles  in  despair, 
and,  falling,  feels  something  across  his  legs. 
Then  all  is  blank. 

The  grand   stand   surely  has    gone    mad,  - 
people  cheering,  waving  colours,    throwing  up 
hats,  stamping  ;  all  is  confusion. 

Strong  arms  gently  carry  him  to  one  side  and 
stretch  him  on  the  grass.  The  doctor  says, 
"He'll  be  around  directly." 


78  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Rah  !  Rah  !  Rah  !  "  What  is  that  noise  ? 
Why  are  they  pouring  red-hot  ice  down  his 
throat  ?  He  slowly  turns  his  head  toward  the 
shouting,  and  spies  an  anxious,  girlish  face 
above  a  duck  suit  straining  forward  from  the 
front  row  of  seats.  A  voice  in  his  ear  says  : 
"  If  he  hadn't  fallen  forward  at  the  finish,  he'd 
have  lost !  Won  by  a  head !  Intercollegiate 
record  busted !  Plucky  little  cuss,  eh  ?  Fine 
time,  4:33  4-5  !  "  And  he  swoons  again. 

R.  T.  ROGERS. 
University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

A  Yule-tide  Happening* 

THEY  were  seated  in  the  parlour,  he  and  she. 
She  was  a  pretty  Back  Bay  lass,  with  a  taste 
for  bric-a-brac ;  he,  a  traditionally  impecunious 
Soph,  with  a  desire  to  create  an  impression  on 
her  heart.  It  was  the  day  before  Christmas, 
and  the  conversation  naturally  tended  toward 
Yule-tide  topics.  Just  now  it  was  touching 
upon  gifts. 

"  Oh,  Dick,"  said  the  girl,  "  did  you  see  the 
stunning  vases  that  came  in  at  Harding  & 
Ware's,  to-day  ?  They  were  beauties,  and  I 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  79 

was  just  dying  to  have  one,  but  they  cost 
over  —  " 

"  Well,  one  of  them  may  turn  up  your  way 
yet ;  "  replied  he,  complacently.  "  I  happened 
to  see  those  vases,  and  thought  you  — 

"  You  didn't  get  me  one,  did  you  ?  You 
foolish,  extravagant  boy !  But  it  is  awfully 
sweet  of  you,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

The  youth  smiled  as  he  thought  how  he  had 
procured  that  vase  for  a  trifle,  after  it  had  been 
smashed  by  a  careless  clerk,  and  had  ordered 
that  clerk,  for  another  trifle,  to  pack  up  the 
vase  and  send  it  to  her  home.  He  wondered 
what  she  would  think  if  she  knew  the  true 
story  of  his  "foolish,  extravagant  sweetness." 
Just  then  the  bell  rang,  and  a  moment  later  the 
maid  entered  the  parlour  with  a  box,  which  she 
handed  to  the  girl. 

"Why,  it's  from  Harding  &  Ware!"  the 
latter  exclaimed.  "  Your  vase !  How  quick 
they  were  in  sending  it  up  here ! " 

"  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  it,"  he  said, 
artfully;  "the  sidewalks  are  pretty  slippery 
to-day,  and  lots  of  people  have  tumbled  down." 

"Oh,  I  hope  so,  too,"  rejoined  the  girl,  be 
ginning  to  take  off  the  wrappings.  The  youth 


8O  CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

stood  near  her,  ready  to  give  vent  to  exclama 
tions  of  astonished  indignation  and  surprise. 
As  she  finally  opened  the  box,  he  bent  forward, 
gave  one  look,  and  then  —  bolted  from  the  par 
lour,  grabbed  his  hat,  and  fled. 

The  clerk  had  earned  his  money  too  well. 
Every  fragment  of  the  broken  vase  was  wrapped 
up  in  a  separate  bit  of  paper. 

H.  P.  HUNTRESS. 
Harvard  Advocate. 

Cousin  John* 

WE  were  returning  from  the  opera  very  late 
that  evening,  and  as  we  neared  home  my  wife 
remarked  : 

"  When  do  you  expect  that  cousin  of  yours 
to  arrive  ?  He  surely  ought  to  be  here  to 
morrow,  for  it's  only  forty-eight  hours  from  St. 
Louis  here." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say,"  I  replied.  "John's  very 
erratic,  you  know,  and  he  may  be  here  to-mor 
row,  or  he  may  be  here  next  week,  or  he  may 
not  be  here  at  all." 

With  this  I  opened  the  door,  and,  to  my 
surprise,  found  John  dozing  in  an  easy  chair 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  8 1 

before  the  hall  fire.  He  started  up  as  we 
entered,  but  before  he  could  say  anything  I  was 
shaking  hands  and  welcoming  him  as  heartily 
as  one  naturally  welcomes  a  cousin  who  has 
been  away  ten  years. 

"My,  John,  but  you've  changed !"  my  wife 
and  I  exclaimed,  simultaneously.  "  One  would 
scarcely  know  you  since  you've  had  the  fever." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  have  changed,"  replied 
John,  "but  you  two  look  the  same  as  when  I 
last  saw  you.  Pardon  me  for  making  myself 
so  much  at  home,  but  I  thought  I'd  rest  a  little, 
while  waiting  for  you." 

After  talking  a  short  time,  we  retired,  as  it 
was  very  late,  and  John  was  very  tired.  I 
assisted  him  in  carrying  his  valise  to  his  room. 
That  valise  was  the  queerest  and  heaviest  thing 
I've  ever  seen  or  carried. 

About  six  o'clock  my  wife  and  I  were  awak 
ened  by  Bridget  pounding  on  the  door  and 
crying  :  "  Shure,  ma'am,  there's  been  robbers 
in  the  house,  and  it's  nary  a  bit  of  silver  that's 
left  at  all,  at  all." 

We  hastily  dressed  and  hurried  down,  only  to 
find  that  Bridget's  words  were  too  true.  We 
examined  the  house  but  could  find  no  clue  to 


82  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

the  thief,  nor  were  there  any  marks  of  violence 
on  door  or  window.  Then  I  thought  of  John, 
and  rushed  up-stairs  to  find  him  and  get  his 
assistance.  On  opening  the  door  of  his  room, 
I  could  see  nothing  of  John  or  his  valise,  and 
the  bed,  moreover,  had  not  been  occupied  at  all. 
Under  the  bed,  however,  was  a  pair  of  shoes, 
apparently  on  some  one's  feet.  I  looked  under 
and  saw  Cousin  John  —  no,  it  wasn't  he,  for 
this  man  had  a  full  beard,  whereas  John  was 
clean-shaven  the  night  before.  But  the  man 
under  the  bed  was  securely  bound  and  gagged, 
and  looked  decidedly  uncomfortable.  He  tried 
to  talk,  but  couldn't,  so  I  pulled  him  out  and 
loosed  his  bonds.  He  was  very  grateful  at 
being  set  free,  and  among  his  many  exclama 
tions  he  cried  out,  "Why,  doctor,  don't  you 
know  your  Cousin  John  ?  " 

"  Cousin  John,  fiddlesticks ! "  I  replied. 
"  Cousin  John  was  here  last  night,  and  had  a 
smooth  face,  while  you  have  a  full  beard.  No 
one  but  Christopher  Columbus  could  grow  a 
beard  like  that  in  one  night.  Who  are  you, 
and  how  did  you  get  here  ? " 

"  I'm  your  Cousin  John,  as  I'll  soon  prove  to 
you  in  relating  how  I  got  here." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  83 

"  Proceed,"  said  I,  being  always  open  to  con 
viction. 

"Well,  I  arrived  here  last  night  about  ten 
o'clock,  long  before  I  expected  when  I  tele 
graphed  you.  I  was  told  you  would  be  home 
soon,  so  I  decided  to  wait  for  you  in  the  hall, 
near  the  fire.  About  eleven  a  fellow  came  and 
inquired  for  the  doctor.  I  heard  the  servant 
tell  him  to  wait  in  the  office.  Soon  I  fell  into 
a  doze,  and  began  dreaming  that  I  was  a  soldier, 
facing  the  Spanish  guns,  when  suddenly  I 
became  aware  of  some  one  standing  near  me, 
and  awoke  to  find  myself  looking  into  the 
muzzle  of  a  revolver. 

"  « Well,  John,  we're  here  at  last,  aren't  we  ? ' 
said  the  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  revolver, 
pleasantly.  '  I  know  you,  and  I've  come  all  the 
way  from  St.  Louis  with  you  to  meet  you  here. 
Don't  look  frightened,  for  I  won't  hurt  you  if 
you  do  as  I  say.' 

"  I  harvdly  knew  what  to  do  or  say,  but  kept 
blinking  at  the  pistol,  when  my  friend  drew 
several  handkerchiefs  from  his  pockets,  gagged 
my  mouth  and  bound  my  hands  behind  my  back. 

"  '  Now,  just  go  up-stairs  to  the  guest-chamber, 
if  you  please,'  he  said,  following  me  up  with  the 


84  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

pistol  still  at  my  head.  When  we  were  inside 
the  room  he  made  me  crawl  under  the  bed,  and 
then  securely  bound  my  feet  and  strengthened 
my  other  bonds.  Then  he  went  away,  but 
came  back  about  one  o'clock,  looked  to  see  if  I 
were  fast,  stayed  about  half  an  hour,  all  the 
time  chuckling  to  himself,  and  then  left  for 
good." 

"All  right,  John,"  I  replied,  "you've  proved 
your  identity.  Your  friend,  who  used  you  ill, 
palmed  himself  off  on  us  as  our  Cousin  John, 
and  departed  during  the  night  with  all  our  sil 
ver,  so  let's  see  what  can  be  done  in  the  way  of 
finding  him." 

We  notified  the  police,  and  made  every  possi 
ble  search,  but  "John"  could  not  be  found. 
The  real  John  was  much  chagrined  at  the  turn 
of  affairs,  and  vowed  to  find  the  false  John  and 
bring  him  to  justice.  Whether  he  will  succeed 
remains  to  be  seen.  All  we  ever  heard  of 
"John"  was  the  following  telegram  received 
from  New  York  about  a  month  after  the 
robbery : 

"  DEAR  COUSINS  :  —  The  silver  was  of  the 
finest  quality.  I'm  off  to  Europe  on  the  pro- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  85 

ceeds.  If  you  have  any  more  to  spare,  kindly 
forward  it  to  London  as  a  souvenir  to  your 
Cousin  John." 

H.  WILSON  STAHLNECKER. 

Red  and  Blue. 

Jeems  Miller's  Coortin'. 

"  WEEL,  Jeems,  an'  hoo  are  ye  the  day  ?  I'm 
shure  ye're  lookin'  gey  happy." 

"I'm  brawly,  thenk  ye,  Tarn,  an'  hoo's 
yersel'?" 

'•'Ay,  man,  I've  guid  richt  to  be  happy  this 
day.  An'  did  ye  no  hear  aboot  it  ?  " 

"  Aboot  whit  ?  Hae  ye  had  a  fortune  come 
to  ye  ?  I'm  rael  gled,  Jeems.  I  s'pose  ye'll  be 
gaen  awa'  to  bide  amang  the  gentry  noo.  Cam- 
lachie'll  no'  be  a  bonny  eneuch  place  for  ye. 
Eh  ?  " 

"Weel,  Tarn,  it's  no'  juist  a  fortune  in  ae 
sense  o'  the  word,  but  I'll  tell  ye  —  Meg  Tarn- 
son  an'  me's  gaun  to  get  mairrit." 

"  O-o-h !  Ay  an'  hoo  did  that  come  aboot, 
Jeems  ?  Naebody  thocht  you  an'  Meg  was 
thick  thegither." 

"  Weel,  I've  been  kin'  o'   castin'  aboot  for  a 


86  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

wife  for  some  time  noo,  an'  at  last  I  settled  on 
Meg.  I  gaed  to  see  her  faither  twa'  three 
times,  an'  hintit  at  Meg,  ye  ken,  till  I'm  shure 
she  had  an  inklin'  o'  whit  I  was  efter.  I  didna 
get  on  very  quick  tho',  for  Meg's  a  gey  weel 
faured  lass,  an'  I'm  thinkin'  she  expeckit  a 
better  man  nor  me.  Weel,  things  was  juist 
aboot  so  so,  when  I  gaed  ower  to  ca'  on  her  last 
nicht.  As  shune  as  I  opened  the  door,  there 
was  Meg  sittin'  in  front  o'  the  kitchen  grate, 
an'  haudin'  her  face  up  near  the  fire.  I  thocht 
at  aince  she  maun  hae  neuralgy  or  teethache, 
an'  I  felt  gey  bad  for  the  puir  lass,  I  tell  ye,  for 
I  didna  ken  hoo  muckle  I  thocht  o'  Meg  till 
that  meenit.  <Ay,  Meg,  an'  whit's  the  maitter, 
lass  ? '  says  I.  She  didna  say  a  word,  but  I  could 
see  she  was  fell  'shamed  to  hae  me  catch  her  in 
sic  a  wy.  Jock,  her  wee  brither,  cam'  up  to 
the  stule  whaur  I  was  sittin'  an'  says,  'Jeems, 
Meg's  got  an  awfu'  sair  teeth.'  'Ay,  puir 
lassie,'  says  I,  but  wi'  that  Meg  flares  up  an' 
says,  '  Jeems  Miller,  wha  ast  for  yer  peety  ? 
Keep  it  to  yersel',  for  I'm  shure  naebody  here 
wants  it.'  Man,  I  was  so  astonish'd  I  could 
haur'ly  speak,  but  at  last  I  advised  her  to  see 
the  doctor  an'  hae  it  pu'd.  Efter  a  while  she 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  87 

cam*  roun'  an'  was  quite  ceevil,  tho*  I  could  see 
she  could  haur'ly  keep  frae  greetin'.  The 
teeth  was  quite  lowse,  so  I  offered  to  pu't 
ma'sel'  wi'  a  bit  string,  but  Meg  wudna  hear  o't. 
Juist  then,  Jock  cries  oot,  '  Meg,  tie  a  string 
to't,  an'  tie  the  ither  en'  o'  the  string  to  the  bed 
post,  an'  juist  walk  back  an'  it'll  come  oot.' 
'  Havers,  Jock,  gae  'wa,'  says  I,  But  Meg  was 
rael  ta'en  wi'  the  idea  an'  wantit  to  try't,  juist 
as  she  used  to  when  a  wee  bit  lass.  Weel,  she 
tied  ae  en'  o'  the  string  to  her  teeth,  an'  the 
ither  en'  to  the  bed-post,  for  she  wudna  let  me 
touch  it.  But  when  it  cam'  to  walkin'  back, 
Meg  couldna'  dae't.  While  she  was  staunin' 
trimblin'  an'  no'  lookin',  I  walked  up  to  her 
quite  quick  like,  and  firm,  an'  afore  she  kent 
whit  she  was  daein',  she  stepped  back,  an'  there 
was  the  teeth  danglin'  frae  the  bed-post.  It 
was  so  sudden  like  she  begun  to  greet.  I  sent 
Jock  for  a  ha'  penny  worth  of  sweeties,  an'  then 
tried  to  comfort  her.  I  juist  put  my  airm  roun' 
her  an'  —  weel,  I  needna'  tell  ye  the  rest,  only 
we're  gaun  to  be  cried  next  Sunday." 

JOHN  GOWDY. 
Wesley  an  Literary  Monthly. 


88  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


Observations* 

TRY  so  to  live  that  when  you  die  even  the 
undertaker  will  be  sorry. 

A  single  life  often  ends  in  happiness.  A 
double  life  often  ends  in  prison. 

The  quality  of  friendship  is  so  steadfast,  so 
beautiful,  and  so  holy  that  it  will  last  for  a  life 
time  if  not  asked  to  lend  money. 

Self-love  is  a  virtue,  for  he  who  loveth  him 
self  shall  have  his  love  returned,  whereas  he 
who  loveth  another,  unless  he  accompany  it 
with  an  expensive  bunch  of  double  violets, 
shall  go  unrequited. 

Princeton  Tiger. 

That  Babington  Affair. 

"You  will  pardon  my  being  so  abominably 
personal,"  I  said  to  my  friend  Reeves,  in  a  burst 
of  confidence,  as  we  sat  smoking  before  the 
open  fire,  talking  over  our  summer  at  Babing 
ton.  "But  did  I  ever  tell  you  the  little  stunt 
that  happened  to  Miss  Marston  and  me  on  the 
links  last  summer  ?  " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  89 

He  moved  rather  uneasily  at  the  mention  of 
that  name,  I  thought,  but  listened  with  interest. 

"  Well,"  I  continued,  "  you  know  that,  thanks 
to  your  exploiting  of  my  peculiarities  and  a 
natural  diffidence  which  I  must  admit,  I  got  a 
reputation  with  those  girls  for  being  the  most 
bashful  thing  there ;  I  don't  think  she  seriously 
believed  it,  though. 

"  It  was  the  afternoon  that  you  were  feeling 
rather  rocky  from  meeting  those  Yale  people 
the  night  before.  I  was  much  flattered  when 
she  accepted  my  services  as  instructor,  and,  with 
a  few  remarks  as  to  the  uselessness  of  engaging 
a  caddy,  I  proudly  took  an  armful  of  clubs,  and 
we  started. 

"  You  are  also  aware  that  the  Babington  golf 
course  was  not  laid  out  with  a  view  to  pleas 
ing  the  novice.  Those  apple  orchards  and 
swamps  that  diversify  the  landscape,  and  the 
omnipresent  Sackett  brook,  so  dangerously 
near,  are  very  trying.  But  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there. 

"  Miss  Marston  progressed  rapidly  under  my 
competent  tuition.  Going  through  Profanity 
Lane,  we  chatted  about  Farmington,  and  upon 
my  remarking  that  I  should  probably  see  Alice 


QO  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Walker  in  August,  she  exclaimed :  « Why, 
really  ?  Do  give  Alice  my  best  love ! ' 

"'May  I  keep  it  until  I  see  her?'  I  asked, 
rather  clumsily,  trying  your  favourite  bon  mot. 
But  just  then  the  lusty  Mrs.  Wrenn-Smith  (you 
remember  seeing  her  avoirdupois  galloping  over 
the  links)  cried  <  Fore  ! '  about  twenty  yards  be 
hind  us,  and  we  turned  around  inopportunely  to 
see  a  large  area  of  turf  lose  its  connection.  So 
my  maiden  effort  was  lost. 

"  We  passed  '  Sleepy  Hollow '  and  '  Despair ' 
easily,  but  in  approaching  the  eighth  green  a 
long  mashie  shot  sent  the  ball  across  the  brook, 
where  it  poised  defiantly.  I  admit  I  was  up  a 
tree. 

"  <  Thunder  ! '  I  think  she  said  —  some  forbid 
ding  word  of  two  syllables.  '  How  can  I  cross  ? 
There  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  sign  of  a  bridge. 
And  I  so  wanted  to  make  this  my  record/ 

"  '  A  toppy  lie,  and  you  had  such  a  good  show 
for  the  bogy !  Won't  you  allow  me  to  carry  you 
over  ? '  I  suggested,  and  I  swear  I  saw  mischief 
in  her  look  as  she  smiled  at  me  and  then  turned 
in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Wrenn-Smith  —  a 
friendly  hill  had  already  managed  to  conceal 
that  lady." 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  9 1 

Reeves  had  removed  his  feet  from  the  mantel 
early  in  the  narrative,  and  now  he  clutched  his 
chair  nervously.  I  refused  to  notice  this  agita 
tion,  and  went  on  : 

"  I  imagine  Miss  Marston  was  surprised  when 
she  found  herself  speedily  transferred  to  the  other 
side.  Anyway,  she  played  the  stroke  in  silence. 
We  recrossed  as  before. 

"  There  was  rather  a  long  pause  as  we  walked 
up.  Finally  she  couldn't  refrain  from  laughing  : 
« Are  you  the  Mr.  Jackson  they  spoke  of  at  the 
hotel  as  being  so  unfortunately  — ' 

"  I  supplied,  «  Such  a  bashful  fool  ? '  and  as 
sured  her  the  accusation  was  entirely  just. 

"  Later,  as  we  were  seated  on  the  club-house 
porch  with  several  others,  I  alluded  to  our  expe 
rience  :  '  You  know,  Miss  Marston  and  I  had 
such  an  amusing  adventure  to-day,'  I  began. 

"'  Yes,  and  we  only  lost  two  strokes  by  it,' 
she  deftly  interposed,  and  commenced  a  discus 
sion  on  the  use  of  the  niblech  in  putting. 

"My  reputation  for  diffidence  continued  as 
good  as  ever  —  except  with  one  person,  and  on 
the  whole  I  am  glad  it  is  that  way,  as  she  is  the 
only  girl  —  " 

Reeves  leaned  forward  eagerly  :  "  Eh  !    You 


92  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

don't  mean  that  you  and  she —  But  Ethel 
Marston  was  a  corking  girl  —  quite  the  queen 
at  Babington.  I  have  some  pleasant  memories 
of  her  myself." 

Reeves  did  not  seem  to  care  particularly  for 
my  story.  I  confess  I  was  too  dense  to  see 
why  at  the  time,  —  but  four  months  later  their 
engagement  was  announced.  I  am  planning  a 
trip  around  the  world  —  after  graduation. 

JOHN  BARKER. 
Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

A  Letter  Home* 

AMHERST  COLLEGE,  AMHERST,  MASS. 
North  Dormitory,  Sunday,  Oct.  5th,  1898. 
DEAR  MOTHER  :  —  Your  last  rec'd  and  read 
with  delight.  Went  to  church  this  morning, 
and  heard  a  magnificent  sermon  by  Doctor 
Drawler,  of  New  York  City.  Afterward  there 
was  class  Bible  study,  which  is  interesting  for 
those  of  us  who  really  want  to  learn.  As  to 
the  odour  of  tobacco  which  you  detected  in  my 
mid-week  letter,  it  is  quite  possible  that  you 
were  not  mistaken.  I  entirely  agree  with  your 


CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  93 

strictures  on  the  vice.  My  room-mate,  however, 
is  an  inveterate  smoker,  although  otherwise  a 
noble  and  earnest  young  man,  just  such  an  one, 
I  think,  as  you  would  have  me  associate  with. 
I  have  spoken  to  him  on  the  subject  along  the 
line  of  your  remarks,  but  you  know  how  it  is 
with  a  habit  of  that  sort.  Yes,  I  have  renewed 
my  Y.  M.  C.  A.  membership,  and,  although  it 
costs  me  $12.50  a  term,  not  to  mention  smaller 
contributions  to  certain  little  charities  which  we 
are  supporting,  it  has  proved,  as  you  predicted, 
both  restful  and  uplifting.  Church  attendance 
is  required,  as  you  are  aware,  and  this  year  the 
expense  of  filling  the  pulpit  is  met  by  subscrip 
tions  among  the  fellows.  I  know  that  you  will 
be  glad  that  I  have  pledged  two  dollars  a  Sun 
day  for  that  noble  purpose,  —  this  aside  from 
pew  rent,  of  course.  Tell  father,  in  answer  to 
his  inquiry,  that  the  work  is  rather  confining, 
but  that  he  need  not  fear  for  my  physical  devel 
opment.  The  Amherst  gym.  system  takes  care 
of  that.  No,  the  exercise  we  get  is  not  too  vio 
lent.  I  received  the  dft.  for  $150,  for  which 
thanks.  With  board  at  $7  per  week,  —  which, 
really,  is  outrageous,  don't  you  think  ?  —  and  my 
subscription  to  the  Alumnus  Missionary  Fund, 


94  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

it  all  went  the  day  I  cashed  it.  Besides,  I  un 
fortunately  broke  an  expensive  plate-glass  win 
dow  in  Northampton  last  Saturday.  I  tipped 
a  cigar  store  Indian  into  it.  The  accident  cost 
me  $20,  but  if  you  will  send  $50  right  away  I 
can  settle  everything  up,  and  have  enough  over 
to  buy  a  new  Standard  Dictionary,  of  which  I 
stand  much  in  need.  The  vesper  chimes  are 
ringing,  and  as  one  must  go  early  to  get  a  seat, 
I  will  close  now.  Lovingly,  WILLIAM. 

JOSEPH  W.  BARR. 
Amherst  Literary  Monthly. 


The  Complete  Athlete. 

BEING   A    SELECTION,    TREATING    UPON     A     TRUE 
MANNER    OF    SPORT. 

Ancient.  Heelor. 

Ancient.  A  good  morning  to  you,  young  sir. 
If  your  course  be  toward  Milford,  I  have  well 
overtaken  you,  and  we  will  go  our  way  together. 

Heelor.  Your  company  and  discourse  will  be 
welcome,  sir.  I  go  indeed  to  Milford,  and  pur 
pose  to  rest  there  some  days  from  my  studies, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  95 

and  doubt  not  that  lively  talk  will  soon  bring  us 
to  the  inn. 

Ancient.  Tell  me  then,  student,  for  such  you 
seem  to  be,  how  is  it  with  manly  sport  in  that 
university  from  which  you  come  ? 

Heelor.  With  your  pardon,  good  sir,  it  is  now 
at  a  height  which  in  the  days  when  you  were  a 
lusty  scholar  it  had  scarce  attained. 

Ancient.  It  may  be  that  you  hold  those  days 
lightly ;  but  tell  me,  I  pray  you,  of  football.  I 
held  some  small  skill  in  that  noble  exercise, 
and  would  know  if  in  this  day  it  is  played  so 
well. 

Heelor.  But  lately  we  took  new  men,  and 
have  equalled  those  who  were  great  in  the  sport. 

Ancient.  And  from  the  breadth  of  your 
shoulders  I  hold  you  for  one  learned  in  the  game. 

Heelor.  You  think  rightly,  sir.  Not  a  day 
but  I  have  left  my  books  to  see  the  struggles 
upon  our  field,  and  cheered  right  lustily  when 
by  skill  our  noble  team  hath  driven  down  the 
lines. 

Ancient.  But  for  yourself,  do  you  not  run 
with  the  ball  ? 

Heelor.  You  forget,  sir,  we  have  a  noble 
team.  I  cheer  them  on  ;  I  have  even  staked 


96  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

much  money  upon  their  trials.  What  would 
you  more  ? 

Ancient.  But  you,  scholar,  trouble  not  to 
play.  How,  then,  with  that  strenuous  sport  of 
rowing  ?  You  pull  an  oar  with  the  best,  I  will 
be  warranted. 

Heelor.  In  truth,  good  sir,  the  water  is  far 
away,  and  the  sliding  seat  perplexing  to  the 
ignorant ;  but  we  have  a  noble  eight.  Twice 
have  I  journeyed  to  the  Thames,  and  heartened 
them  with  cheerful  cries.  Belike  they  shall  win 
this  year,  and  I  gain  back  that  which,  in  my 
love  for  the  university,  I  do  put  upon  their 
success. 

Ancient.  But  you  row  not,  gentle  scholar. 
Tell  me,  then,  friend,  for  already  have  we  come 
upon  Milford  Hill,  you  and  your  class  do  run, 
perchance,  or  jump  at  the  hurdles,  or  bat  the 
ball.  In.  my  day,  though  now  forgotten,  we 
prided  ourselves,  each  one,  that,  for  the  love 
thereof,  we  partook  of  some  healthful  sport. 

Heelor.  Well  enough,  master,  and  so  do 
many  now ;  but,  as  there  may  be  no  doubt  that 
not  all  of  us  can  win  a  place,  so,  indeed,  do  I 
and  others  heel  valiantly  those  who  succeed. 

Ancient.     It   was    not    so    in    my  day ;  and, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  97 

scholar,  I  have  thought  that  he  who  loveth  sport 
will  rather  enter  into  manly  pursuits,  that  he 
may  row  because  it  is  good,  and  run  because  it 
is  good,  and  thus  find  the  truest  service  in  the 
doing,  not  contenting  himself  with  the  watching 
alone.  But  here  is  the  inn,  which  will  put  an  end 
to  our  talk,  and  bring  me  to  my  journey's  end. 

Heelor.  And  you  should  come  to  the  nearest 
game.  We  would  tell  you  of  that  doing ;  and 
so,  good-bye. 

HENRY  SEIDEL  CANBY. 

Yale  Courant. 

Of  Passing  Moment*. 

SHE  grew  to  be  a  sort  of  habit  with  him.  In 
earlier  days  it  had  been  different.  Even  to  have 
her  about  had  irritated  him  ;  and  he  had  detested 
her  presence  as  he  would  that  of  a  fly  or  any 
live  thing  that  made  a  noise.  Her  queer  little 
face,  old  and  dried,  yet  with  a  perk  of  sharpness 
to  it,  had  seemed  to  him  absurd.  Her  tiptoeing 
quickness  of  motion,  her  puffing  lack  of  breath, 
had  grated  on  him  even  while  it  bored  him. 
Her  wheezy  inanities  of  observation  on  the  com 
monplaces  of  life  were  doubtless  well  meant ; 


98  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

but  they  jangled  on  his  nerves.     They  struck 
him  as  ludicrous  in  their  inherent  uselessness. 

But  all  that  was  past.  As  I  say,  she  had 
grown  to  be  with  him  a  habit.  He  liked  to 
watch  her.  He  would  stare  and  dumbly  marvel 
that  a  thing  so  withered  could  retain  so  much 
of  life.  He  speculated  on  her  age,  wondering  if 
she  were  forty  or  seventy  ;  he  had  no  idea  which. 
Such  nervous  energy  of  motion  in  one  seemingly 
so  old  amused  and  puzzled  him.  When  he  be 
gan  to  notice  a  little  more  closely  her  idiotic, 
shrunken  face,  he  saw  that  the  lines  of  it  were 
kind ;  and  he  liked  her  for  it.  When  he  came 
to  think  of  it,  her  observations  on  the  weather 
seemed  to  him  harmless  and  well-intentioned ; 
they  ceased  to  be  a  matter  for  irritation.  He 
saw  that  she  did  her  work  well ;  that  she  swept 
and  dusted  often ;  that  she  kept  the  room  clean 
and  well-ordered  ;  and  all  that  in  her,  even  apart 
from  selfish  reasons,  he  liked.  He  saw,  too, 
that  she  never  meddled  with  things  of  his  ;  that 
she  threw  away  no  papers  that  he  might  leave 
carelessly  about ;  that  she  left  things  where  he 
wanted  them,  and  was  not  arbitrary  in  the  use 
of  her  power  to  put  the  room  to  rights.  This 
also  he  thought  to  be  considerate. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  99 

In  time,  his  relations  with  her  became  a  bit 
more  personal.  Once  when  he  was  sick  she  did 
him  several  little  kindnesses,  got  his  breakfast, 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  these  he  remembered. 
She  came  to  see  that  he  didn't  care  to  talk ;  and 
she  would  come  in,  do  her  work,  and  go  away 
without  a  word.  At  length,  also,  he  saw  that 
she  began  to  accommodate  her  hours  of  work  to 
his  convenience.  All  this  in  her  he  liked.  He 
had  a  trick  of  locking  himself  out  of  his  room ; 
and  then  he  would  have  to  hunt  about  for  her, 
and  borrow  her  string  of  keys.  This  always 
struck  her  as  unspeakably  amusing,  and  her 
toothless  amusement  always  in  turn  amused  him. 
Her  wizened,  bent  little  figure  became  to  him  a 
familiar  sight  on  other  landings  than  his  own  ; 
and  he  always  grinned  when  she  bade  him  good 
morning. 

Many  aspects  of  her  interested  him.  The 
awkward  fumbling  of  her  keys  before  she  could 
open  his  door  appealed  to  him  as  typical.  When 
she  would  reach  his  room  too  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  find  him  in  the  act  of  dressing,  he  never 
failed  to  smile  at  the  half-shocked,  apologising 
abashment  with  which  she  withdrew  from  the 
room.  When  she  found  him  not  even  out  of 


IOO  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

bed,  her  bewilderment  was  ever  new  and  ever 
obvious.  She  did  some  of  his  washing  for  him  ; 
and  the  air  of  timid  effacement,  with  which  she 
would  now  and  then  dun  him  for  a  payment  on 
account,  touched  him  a  bit  even  while  it  caused 
him  to  laugh.  When  he  chanced  to  be  in  the 
room  while  she  was  putting  it  in  order,  he  would 
covertly  drink  her  in,  with  her  look  of  half- 
alarm,  her  dimming  eyes,  her  motions  quick  with 
the  energy  of  age.  He  heard  her  wheezy  puf 
fings,  her  shortness  of  breath ;  he  saw  her  talk 
ing  in  garrulous  undertonings  to  herself  ;  about 
what,  he  wondered. 

In  a  half -formulated  way  he  pitied  her  a  little  ; 
perhaps  he  sometimes  wondered  just  how  sordid 
and  blank  could  be  the  side  of  her  life  that  he 
never  saw.  An  ill-defined  impulse  may  have 
come  to  him  now  and  again  to  question  her 
about  it.  But  he  never  did. 

One  day  he  noticed  that  a  different  goody 
fixed  his  room.  A  little  later  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  hadn't  seen  Joan  about  the  place  for 
some  days. 

On  his  way  down-stairs  he  ran  across  Collins, 
the  janitor.  It  occurred  to  him  to  ask  Collins 
about  her. 


CAP    AND   G0WN-   Itf    PROSE  >IOI 

"  By  the  way,  Collins,  where's  Joan,  my  goody, 
these  days  ? " 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  ?  "  said  Collins,  with 
businesslike  directness  ;  "  she  was  taken  sick  the 
other  day  and  died.  Thought  you  knew." 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  hadn't  heard;"  and  went 
on  down-stairs. 

That  night  at  dinner  the  fellows  at  his  table 
jollied  him  a  bit  about  being  sober  —  not  much, 
they  said,  but  just  a  little. 

PHILIP  GREENLEAF  CARLETON. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

A  Cold  Bluff. 

"WHOOPEE!"  remarked  Bud,  throwing  his 
coat  in  one  corner  and  his  hat  in  another,  "  I 
just  worked  the  coldest  game  of  bluff  you  ever 
saw." 

"Thought  that  was  a  regular  thing  with  you," 
said  Willie,  glancing  up  from  his  desk.  "It's 
the  only  game  you  play,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  but  past  experience  wasn't  in  it  with 
this.  I  usually  don't  have  any  luck  when  I  try 
to  bluff  a  Prof,  in  recitation,  but  this  was  a  cooler. 
I  made  a  rush  and  no  mistake." 


102  eAl'   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"Hear  the  man  blow,"  said  Lem,  from  the 
window-seat :  "  Bud,  you're  a  conceited  ass. 
Tell  us  about  it." 

"  Well,  you  see  I  was  dreaming  away  in  recita 
tion,  —  didn't  hear  a  thing  that  was  going  on,  — 
till  all  of  a  sudden  Pete  hit  me  a  biff  in  the  back 
and  I  heard  the  Prof,  saying,  '  Do  you  believe  in 
the  truth  of  that  theory,  Mr.  Bud  ? '  Gee,  I  was 
phazed.  I  got  up  and  said,  '  Yes,  sir,  I  do,'  with 
a  lot  of  emphasis,  just  as  if  I  had  been  giving 
it  thought  for  the  past  week.  Then  he  said, 
'  And  your  reasons  for  it,  Mr.  Bud  ? '  Well,  I 
thought  I  was  stumped,  but  I  looked  him  sternly 
in  the  eye,  just  as  if  I  thought  he  was  asking  un 
necessary  questions,  and  said,  'Why,  professor, 
it  struck  me  as  the  only  reasonable  theory,'  and 
then  I  stuck  again.  Then  bless  his  heart,  if  he 
didn't  throw  out  a  line  and  I  bit.  He  said, 
'Then  you  agree  with  So-and-so  when  he  said 
so-and-so  ? '  I  said,  « Certainly,  sir,'  and  I  re 
peated  what  he  said  So-and-so  said.  Then  he 
talked  some  more  and  I  followed  him  up,  and 
we  two  held  the  floor  most  ten  minutes  arguing 
it  out,  and  when  I  sat  down  he  said,  '  Mr.  Bud, 
your  position  is  a  strong  one  and  I  heartily  agree 
with  you.'  How's  that  for  a  rush,  Willie  ?  " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  103 

"  Nothing  else,"  said  Willie.  "  It  seems  to 
me,  though,  Bud,  you're  going  to  sleep  entirely 
too  much  in  recitation.  Half  the  time  I  look  at 
you,  you're  miles  away." 

"  Seven  miles,"  murmured  Lem,  with  his  head 
buried  in  the  pillows. 

Amherst  Literary  Monthly. 

Fable. 

Two  men  argued  at  the  fork  of  a  road. 

"  One  road  leads  to  Heaven  and  the  other  to 
Hell,"  said  the  first. 

"That  must  be  so,"  agreed  the  second. 

"  The  left-hand  road  leads  to  Heaven  and  the 
right  to  Hell,"  said  the  first. 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  the  second.  "  It  is 
just  the  other  way." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  am  right,"  said  the  first, 
"  I  shall  take  the  road  to  the  left." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  am  right,"  said  the  second, 
"I  shall  take  the  road  to  the  right." 

They  had  gone  some  distance  when  the  roads 
came  together  again,  and  the  travellers  found 
themselves  once  more  in  each  other's  company. 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  asked  the  first. 


IO4      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  said  the  second. 
"  At  any  rate,  let  us  eat  and  drink  here,"  said 
the  first,  "for  the  sun  is  hot  and  I  am  weary." 
So  they  ate  and  drank  and  afterward  lay  down 
to  sleep. 

JAMES  OWEN  TRYON. 
Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

Arcady  Farewell! 

LARGE  and  primal  she  looked,  girl  with  a 
woman's  growth,  as  she  swung  along  the  moun 
tainside  with  the  grace  of  a  forest  Dian.  I 
compared  her  with  women  elsewhere,  womanish 
girls  in  pent-up  places  with  their  one-ness  in  con 
vention.  The  Swiss  girl's  woollen  skirt  scarce 
covered  her  knees,  and  below  it  her  legs  showed 
bare  and  brown,  and  her  footprints,  by  their 
lightness,  barely  visible  in  the  morning  sod  or 
beaten  path,  might  have  marked  the  swiftest 
nymph  in  Thessaly.  She  crossed  the  last  knoll 
of  the  foot-hills,  appearing  for  a  moment  in  quick 
relief  against  the  red  sky-line.  Her  hair,  in  no 
way  bound,  and  lifting  in  the  breeze,  showed  her 
neck  full  and  straight  from  the  crown.  Disap 
pearing,  she  left  floating  a  Tyrolese  air  by  which 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  1 05 

I  followed  her.  She  had  turned  in  the  village, 
and,  arms  akimbo,  looked  longingly  into  a 
gaudy  shop  where  the  peasants  buy  their 
things.  Then  she  looked  down,  digging  her 
toe  in  the  sand  impatiently.  She  passed 
through  the  village,  and  I  lost  her.  There 
is  no  Arcady.  And  with  Virgil  (or  any  one 
else)  I  say  that  the  choral  ringing  woods  are 
gone  and  the  virgin  of  the  forest  has  run  away 
with  Pan.  For  in  the  dingy  window  what  but 
a  pair  of  shoes  !  Wood  ones  with  fastenings 
of  red  leather ! 

F.  A.  L. 
Yale  Literary  Magazine. 

Exhibits  in  a  Trial  of  Hearts. 

Exhibit  A. 

February  6,  1899. 

MR.  J.   HOPPE  :  —  Can't  come,  Jack.     Heart 
broken.     Will  write.  MABELLE. 

Exhibit  B. 

February  6,  1899. 

Miss     MABELLE     PROM  :  —  Awfully     sorry. 
Likewise  heart  broken.  JACK. 


IO6  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Exhibit  C. 

February  6,  1899. 

Miss  ISABELLA  DANCE  :  —  ...  Can't  you 
come  to  the  Hop,  Friday  ?  I  would  have  written 
you  long  ere  this,  but  I  have  been  laid  up  with 
grippe.  Do  come.  .  .  .  JACK. 

Exhibit  D. 

February  7,  1899. 

MR.  J.  HOPPE  :  —  Will  be  delighted.  Arrive 
at  4.58  Friday.  ISABELLA. 

Exhibit  E. 

February  9,  1 899. 

MR.  J.  HOPPE  :  —  Coming  after  all.  Hurrah ! 
Arrive  5.15  Friday.  MABELLE. 

Exhibit  F. 

February  12,  1899. 
MR.  J.   HOPPE  :  — 

EXPENSE    ACCOUNT. 

Per  tickets,  carriages,  etc.,  etc.         .         $20.00 

Per  ticket  for  roommate  to  take 

Mabelle 6.00 

Per  flowers,  candy  and  other  offer 
ings  to  win  back  favour  .  .  50.00 

Per  broken  heart  and  personal  mis 
ery  (incalculable) 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Exhibit  G. 

February  12,  1899. 

DEAR  MR.   HOPPE  :  —  I  return  your  ring. 

MABELLE  PROM. 

Exhibit  H. 

February  12,  1899. 

DEAR  MR.   HOPPE  :  —  I  return  your  pin. 

ISABELLA  DANCE. 

Exhibit  I. 
(From  the  Herald^ 
The  engagement  of  Mr.  J.  Hoppe  and  Miss 

Neverdance  is  announced. 

Wrinkle. 


The  Proprieties, 

"  I  DON'T  know  about  that,"  he  said. 

"  I  know  you  don't,"  she  replied,  with  some 
thing  approaching  asperity.  "  But  I  do.  One 
must  have  a  little  regard  for  the  proprieties." 

"  But  I  can't  see  why  —  " 

"  That  makes  little  difference  if  I  can.  You 
know  perfectly  well  that  I'd  love  to  do  it." 

"  Then  I  don't  understand  - 

"Why    will   you    persist    in    flaunting    your 


IO8  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

weakness  of  comprehension  in  my  face  ?  It 
would  be  quite  dark." 

"You've  been  down  there  alone  when  it 
wasn't  any  lighter.  And  it  is  the  moonrise 
we  were  going  to  see  any  way." 

"The  moonrise  would  be  only  a  hundred 
yards  nearer  even  if  we  did  go  down  on  the 
beach." 

"It's  much  better  than  this  glary  old  veranda, 
though.  The  clean  white  sand  and  the  sound 
of  the  breakers  and  the  light  on  the  water  —  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  nice  slimy  seaweed  and  those 
lovely  squshy  jellyfish  and  —  " 

"  You  needn't  guy  a  man  about  it.  I  suppose 
if  you  won't  go  I'll  have  to  try  somebody  else. 
Do  you  fancy  that  Claire  Vance  would  come  ? " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder.     Good-bye." 

"  Er  —  a  —  say,  Margie,  hadn't  you  better 
come  ? " 

"  My  dear  —  I  mean,  you  foolish  boy  !  Mother 
doesn't  like  to  have  me  wander  off  after  dark 
on  the  beach.  Besides,  you're  going  with  Claire 
Vance." 

"  If  I  must,  I  must.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

"  Eh,  Margie  ? " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  IOQ 

"Well?" 

"  You've  been  down  alone,  haven't  you  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  She  doesn't  object  to  that  ?  " 

"  No.     It's  going  off  with  —  " 

"  The  fellows.  That's  what  I  thought.  Now 
if  I  should  go  down  there  alone.  —  Are  you 
listening  ? " 

"Yes." 

"And  if  you  should  happen  to  take  a  little 
stroll  just  on  the  breakwater  —  " 

"  If  I  should." 

"Why,  if  I  chanced  to  meet  you,  it  really 
wouldn't  be  civil  for  me  to  pass  by  without  a 
word,  would  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  indeed." 

"Well,  good-bye." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  take  a  turn  on  the  beach  to 
see  the  moon  rise." 

"  How  nice  !  I  may  go  over  that  way  myself 
later.  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye." 

p.  B. 
Amherst  Literary  Monthly. 


IIO  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


The  Freshman  Enters  the  Debate. 

MR.  PRESIDENT,  Honourable  Judges,  Ladies 
and  Gentlemen  (flustered)  :  I  beg  your  pardon, 
but  there  aren't  any  ladies  present.  The  ques 
tion  before  us  to-night  is  resolved  that  the  U.  S. 
should  build  and  maintain  a  much  greater  navy 
than  at  present.  Remember  the  question. 

Now,  Honourable  Judges,  I  do  not  think  that 
the  U.  S.  should  adopt  the  free  coinage  of  silver 
at  the  ratio  of  16  to  i.  Then  there's  Hawaii. 
I  can  not  see  that  the  restriction  of  immigration 
will  do  us  any  good,  and  what's  the  use  of  retain 
ing  the  Philippines  if  we  don't  want  them  ?  Mr. 
President,  think  of  the  nations  of  Europe  !  Can 
we  stand  idly  by  ?  No  ;  the  time  for  us  to  act 
is  passed,  and  when  we  think  of  our  national 
honour,  when  we  think  of  woman  suffrage,  when 
we  think  of  free  trade  and  protection,  it  is  then, 
Honourable  Judges,  that  we  decide  that  the  U.  S. 
should  have  a  much  greater  navy  than  she  has 
at  present.  I  thank  you. 

Wrinkle. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  III 


A  Cigarette* 

STAYING  late  one  evening  at  the  Officers' 
Club,  I  looked  up  from  my  paper  and  found 
myself  alone  with  old  Colonel  Cox,  every  one 
else  having  gone  home.  Although  I  knew  the 
colonel  very  well,  I  had  never  heard  him  spin  a 
yarn,  for  which,  by  the  way,  he  had  quite  a 
reputation.  Thinking  this  a  favourable  oppor 
tunity,  I  laid  the  paper  aside  and  engaged  him 
in  conversation.  I  first  told  a  story  myself,  as 
the  conversation  seemed  to  lag,  and  then  asked 
the  colonel  for  a  yarn. 

"Well,  if  you  insist,"  said  he ;  "but  first  give 
me  a  cigarette.  They  play  a  large  part  in  my 
life,  as  well  as  in  my  story." 

I  hastened  to  offer  him  a  cigarette,  which  he 
lighted  in  a  leisurely  manner,  and  after  a  proper 
show  of  reluctance  he  opened  fire. 

"  It  happened  many  years  ago.  I  was  then 
a  first  classman  at  the  Academy,1  and  I  regret 
to  say  a  prominent  member  of  the  '  Immor 
tals.'  2  I  had  lately  been  caught  in  various 

1  Senior  at  West  Point. 

2  Men  of  lowest  possible  standing. 


112  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

scrapes,  and  already  had  a  ghastly  array  of 
demerits  constantly  staring  me  in  the  face.  In 
fact,  had  I  committed  the  slightest  faux  pas  of 
any  description  at  that  time,  I  should  at  present, 
sir,  be  denied  the  honour  of  calling  myself  an 
officer  of  the  U.  S.  Army." 

While  the  colonel  was  clearing  his  throat  I 
hazarded  the  remark  that  his  series  of  narrow 
escapes  began  early  in  life. 

"  It  was  in  June,"  he  continued,  without 
assenting  to  my  remark,  "  I  met  her  at  the 
hop.  She  was  of  a  very  fine  Southern  family. 
Ah  !  that  was  a  great  campaign.  I  had  to  fight 
with  a  dashing  young  captain  for  every  moment 
of  her  society.  His  name  was  Grier.  Against 
him  I  employed  all  the  strategies  known  to 
modern  warfare.  He  was  good,  but  I  was 
better.  Then,  too,  you  know,  I  was  practically 
in  disgrace,  which  of  course  was  of  the  greatest 
assistance  to  me.  The  first  time  I  met  her  I 
told  her  all  about  it.  I  told  her  how  <  Sept ' 
Moor  and  'Piggie'  Perkins,  unbeknown  to  me, 
had  hauled  up  my  chimney,  for  safe-keeping,  a 
roasted  turkey  that  they  received  from*  Piggie's  ' 
home,  and  how  I  got  all  the  blame.  I  explained 
to  her  that  I  didn't  see  why  they  should  suspect 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  113 

me,  simply  because  half  of  the  specimens  in  the 
geological  collection  were  missing  when  <  exams  ' 
came  around.  Besides,  there  was  no  loss  of 
property,  for  they  were  all  found  afterward, 
'having  evidently  been  thrown  out  the  window,' 
as  the  instructor  reported." 

By  this  time  the  colonel  had  warmed  up  to 
his  story,  and  it  took  only  a  moment  to  light  a 
fresh  cigarette,  when  he  began  again. 

"  Well,  I  got  on  finely  with  her.  The  next 
day  I  found  time  to  call ;  and,  by  the  way,  it 
might  be  well  to  state  here  that  I  always  seemed 
to  be  more  apt  at  finding  time  than  any  other 
man  in  the  Academy.  As  the  June  air  was 
delightfully  refreshing,  I  proposed  a  walk ;  she 
acquiesced.  Now,  as  luck  would  have  it,  I  hap 
pened  to  have  some  cigarettes  about  me.  Cadets 
were  forbidden  to  smoke,  but  as  we  were  stroll 
ing  along  a  lonely  part  of  '  Flirtation,'  and  she 
didn't  object,  I  thought  I'd  risk  it.  I  was  to 
graduate  in  a  few  days,  and  if  I  should  be 
caught  —  well,  I  shouldn't  have  been  an  officer 
to-day.  I  '  lit  up,'  and  we-were  chatting  pleas 
antly  together,  when  suddenly  round  the  corner 
strode  no  other  person  than  Captain  Grier.  I 
threw  the  cigarette  away  before  he  saw  me,  but 


114  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

it  struck  a  tree  and  fell  directly  in  the  path 
between  us,  smoking  like  a  Vesuvius. 

"  Grier  stopped,  stared  at  me  for  a  moment, 
then  said,  curtly,  «  Smoking,  Mr.  Cox  ?  Con 
sider  yourself  under  arrest,  sir,  and  report  to 
the  commandant.' 

"  I  was  completely  dazed  for  a  moment,  as  it 
dawned  upon  me  that  my  one  ambition,  my 
whole  future  career,  was  shattered.  But 
on  the  instant  a  merry  little  peal  of  laughter 
rang  out  beside  me,  and  a  sweet  voice  remarked, 
amusedly,  yet  reluctantly,  'Why,  captain,  how 
funny,  'tis  /  who  was  smoking.  I  just  threw 
the  cigarette  away.' ' 

After  some  minutes'  silence,  the  colonel  rose 
and  marched  toward  the  door. 

"  Colonel,"  said  I,  "  under  the  circumstances 
there  was  but  one  thing  for  you  to  do.  Your  gal 
lantry,  you  know.  You  should  have  married  her." 

"  Y-e-s,  but  you  know  often  when  I  come  home 
late  at  night  —  " 

He  stopped,  glanced  suddenly  at  the  clock, 
seized  his  cap,  and  bolted  for  home,  remarking, 
as  he  slammed  the  door  :  "  I'm  d — ed  if  I  agree 
with  you."  J.  M.  PARKER. 

Cornell  Magazine. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  115 


A  Short  Conversation. 

"  WHY  is  it  men  are  so  slow  to  take  hints  ? " 
she  asked,  looking  at  him  with  questioning  eyes. 

"  Are  they  always  ? "  he  asked,  in  return,  as 
though  surprised. 

"Almost  always.  Sometimes  I  think  they 
must  be  very  blind  indeed,  or  else  — ' 

"  Or  else  what  ?  " 

"They  don't  care.  And  you  see  it's  so  hard 
to  decide  which  is  true.  I  hate  to  think  them 
all  blind,  and  — 

"  I  am  sure  they  care,"  he  interrupted. 

"  Now,  I  once  heard  of  a  man,"  she  continued, 
meditatively,  "  who  was  not  blind,  and  who  really 
did  care.  I  should  like  to  have  met  him." 

"  Please  tell  me  about  him,"  he  begged. 

"  Well,  you  see  he  was  a  very  nice  man  indeed. 
Only  the  girl  hadn't  known  him  very  long  —  had 
just  met  him  the  week  before,  in  fact,  but  dur 
ing  that  week  she  had  seen  him  almost  every 
night.  He  was  very  polite  and,  having  known 
her  such  a  short  time,  was  very  discreet  —  as 
he  should  have  been,  of  course,"  she  added. 

"  Of  course,"  he  repeated. 


Il6  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  But  one  night  at  a  dance  the  girl  thought 
she  would  like  him  to  be  a  little  bit  indiscreet, 
just  a  little,  you  know,  so  she  gave  the  very 
slightest  of  hints." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  She  told  him  she  liked  men  who  weren't 
conventional,  and  who  didn't  always  think  of 
how  things  would  appear,  and  then  she  asked 
him  to  take  her  out  into  the  conservatory,  and 
—  well,  he  wasn't  conventional,  that's  all." 

"  He  was  just  a  trifle  indiscreet." 

"  Exactly.  Of  course  she  wouldn't  have  hinted 
if  she  hadn't  rather  liked  the  man  and  fancied  he 
liked  her." 

"  I'm  sure  he  must  have  liked  her  very  much." 

"Well,  he  was  a  man  who  understood,  you 
see.  Oh,  dear,  there's  my  carriage,  and  I  really 
must  go.  I'm  not  going  to  tell  Arthur,  though, 
for  he  always  enjoys  walking  home,  he  says.  So 
you  may  see  me  into  the  carriage,  if  you  will." 

He  bowed  and  thanked  her.  A  few  moments 
later  he  went  down  the  steps  with  her,  and  to  the 
carriage. 

"  Isn't  it  a  beautiful  night  ?  "  she  said.  "  So 
cold  and  clear.  I  always  feel  particularly  happy 
on  such  a  night." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  I  17 

"And  I  particularly  gay,"  he  rejoined. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  carriage  and  helped 
her  in. 

"Good  night,"  said  he,  and  closed  the  door. 

She  rapped  lightly  on  the  glass.  "  Let  the 
window  down,"  she  begged. 

When  he  had  done  so,  she  explained :  "  The 
air  is  so  fresh  I'd  much  rather  have  it  blow  in. 
I'm  well  protected,  you  see." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  he  answered,  and  he  put  his 
head  in  at  the  window  and  looked  at  her.  "  Yes, 
very  well  protected.  Good  night." 

RUPERT  S.  HOLLAND. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Old  Man. 

DUNROY  looked  big  and  wholesome  as  he 
came  across  the  campus  in  cool  ducks  and 
rowing  jersey  that  hot  August  afternoon.  The 
rowing  jersey  displayed  to  best  advantage  his 
perfectly  muscled  arms  and  magnificent  shoul 
ders,  and  the  owner  of  them  evidently  knew  it, 
judging  from  his  air  of  satisfaction  and  comfort. 
A  party  of  summer  visitors  passed  him,  and  one 
of  the  women  turned  to  look. 


Il8      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

"That's  Dunroy,  the  'Varsity  tackle,"  the 
guide  explained,  and  then  all  the  women  fol 
lowed  the  example  of  the  first.  Unconscious 
of  this  admiration,  Dunroy  turned  the  corner  of 
Old  North  and  narrowly  escaped  walking  over  a 
youth  who  wore  glasses  and  carried  a  book. 

"  Hello,  old  man  —  didn't  know  you  were 
back,"  said  Dunroy,  extending  his  hand,  which 
the  other  took  hesitatingly. 

"We're  the  only  people  here,"  Dunroy  con 
tinued.  "  Come  up  and  see  me,  won't  you  ?  I 
am  rooming  over  on  Mercer  Street." 

Old  Man  called  that  evening,  and  he  and 
Dunroy  talked  over  everything  from  football  to 
faculty.  When  Old  Man  took  his  hat  to  depart, 
Dunroy  volunteered  to  walk  up-town  with  him. 
The  street  was  crowded,  —  it  was  Saturday  night 
when  the  town  people  promenade,  —  and  a  score 
of  pedestrians  stared  after  the  football  player 
longer  than  was  consistent  with  good  breeding. 
Old  Man  saw  this,  and  he  threw  back  his  stoop 
ing  shoulders  and  strode  along  proudly.  They 
had  ice  in  a  restaurant,  and  as  they  reached  the 
street  again,  a  young  man  with  a  cigarette  and  a 
dress-suit  case  pounced  upon  Dunroy  with  a  joy 
that  was  unfeigned.  Old  Man  went  on  down 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  IIQ 

the  street  toward  home,  and  heard  the  man 
with  the  cigarette  inquire,  with  a  disagreeable 
inflection,  "Who's  your  friend?"  He  heard 
Dunroy  laugh  indulgently.  Old  Man  lay  awake 
that  night  thinking  hard,  and  before  he  went 
to  sleep  he  resolved  not  to  visit  the  house  on 
Mercer  Street  again.  But  when  Dunroy  called 
under  the  window  next  morning,  Old  Man 
grabbed  his  cap  eagerly,  and  the  two  walked 
ten  miles  over  Rocky  Hill  before  lunch-time. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  acquaintance 
that  grew  very  close  under  the  soft,  sleepy  vaca 
tion  spell  of  the  old  campus.  Each  told  the 
other  of  his  hopes  and  aspirations,  and  there 
were  few  heart  secrets  of  one  that  the  other  did 
not  know.  Old  Man  was  happy  in  Dunroy's 
confidence ;  but  sometimes,  when  they  loafed 
in  the  shade  of  a  campus  elm,  dreaming  away 
the  quiet  summer  afternoon,  or  tramped  with 
cleek  and  niblech  across  the  golf  links,  he 
doubted. 

One  week  there  was  unusual  stir  among  the 
University  minions  ;  the  dormitory  doors  stood 
open,  and  Biddies  with  brooms  and  bunches  of 
keys  waited  about  the  entries.  With  suit-cases 
and  Freshman  brothers,  with  song  and  joyous 


I2O  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

greeting,  the  students  returned.  Old  friend 
ships  were  cemented  for  another  happy  year, 
and  after  a  week  of  confusion  the  University 
settled  into  its  accustomed  routine.  The  foot 
ball  men  came  back  a  few  days  earlier,  and  then 
it  was  that  Old  Man  began  to  miss  Dunroy. 
There  were  no  more  cross-country  walks,  no 
more  tennis  games,  and  Old  Man  was  lone 
some.  The  only  time  he  saw  Dunroy  was 
when  he  went  down  to  'Varsity  field  to  watch 
practice.  One  night  after  college  was  opened 
he  climbed  the  stairs  to  Dunroy's  room.  There 
were  a  number  of  classmates  there  whom  Old 
Man  knew  by  sight.  Dunroy  introduced  him 
to  the  crowd  with  careless  grace ;  but  Old  Man 
went  away  soon.  They  seemed  too  happy. 

The  next  day  Old  Man  passed  Dunroy,  who 
was  coming  from  Prospect  with  a  crowd  of  fellow 
club-men.  Dunroy,  with  his  arm  on  another's 
shoulder,  was  deeply  engaged  in  conversation, 
and  did  not  hear  Old  Man's  salutation.  Again 
they  met,  face  to  face  on  the  stairs  in  Dickin 
son  ;  but  Dunroy  was  hurrying  to  a  class,  and 
did  not  see  Old  Man  or  the  look  of  appeal  in  his 
eyes.  Five  minutes  later,  in  the  solitude  of  his 
room,  Old  Man  buried  his  face  in  a  pile  of  sofa- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  121 

pillows  and  sobbed  bitterly.  He  cut  classes 
all  that  day,  and  when  night  came,  and  the  gas 
lights  flickered  in  his  entry,  he  did  a  very  foolish 
thing. 

It  was  time  for  all  football  men  to  be  in  bed 
when  Dunroy  hurried  across  Nassau  Street 
toward  the  campus.  At  the  gate  he  noticed 
a  group  of  men  and  paused. 

"  Don't  say  anything  about  —  please  don't," 
said  a  voice,  entreatingly ;  "he  never  did  it 
before." 

Dunroy  drew  near.  In  the  midst  of  the 
group  he  saw  Old  Man  was  hatless,  a  wild, 
fearful  look  shone  from  his  wandering  eyes, 
and  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  A  hard-faced 
proctor  confronted  the  three. 

Dunroy  regarded  Old  Man  with  an  expression 
of  amusement  and  contempt. 

"  I  didn't  think  it  of  you,"  he  said.     "  You're 
a  fool."     And  he  walked  away  whistling. 
LEONARD  H.   ROBBINS. 
Nassau  Literary  Magazine. 


122  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 


The  Shooting  of  Barrows,  Freshman. 

JIM  BARROWS  was  a  fair  student  and  an 
influential  Senior,  but  had  been  a  very  green 
Freshman.  As  he  had  come  from  somewhere 
back  in  the  woods  and  had  almost  wholly  pre 
pared  himself,  the  ideas  he  brought  to  college 
were  extraordinary.  Freshman  year  he  roomed 
on  the  lower  floor  front  of  Rood  House.  Some 
Seniors  and  a  "Medic."  had  the  rooms  where 
the  coop  store  now  is.  Jim  always  had  to  touch 
his  hat  to  the  Seniors,  and  had  to  call  the  Medic. 
"  Doctor." 

He  had  not  been  in  town  a  month  before  an 
incident  occurred  whose  memory  stuck  to  him 
through  his  whole  course.  His  neighbours  had 
filled  him  with  hazing  yarns  until,  stout-hearted 
as  he  was,  he  really  despaired  of  getting  through 
college  alive. 

One  evening  three  Sophomores  were  return 
ing  late  from  a  partridge  hunt  over  back  of 
Norwich.  Aside  from  a  few  hard  green  apples, 
they  had  nothing  to  show  for  their  tramping. 
As  they  were  wearily  trudging  by  Rood  House, 
they  espied  the  unfortunate  Jim  standing  be- 


CAP   AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  123 

tween  his  lamp  and  the  wide-open  window.  His 
back  was  toward  them  and  his  shoulders  were 
bare.  The  night  was  dark.  One  man  quietly 
cocked  his  gun,  another  selected  a  very  hard 
apple,  the  third  counted,  "one,  two,  three." 
Bang,  went  the  charge  of  shot  in  the  air, 
while  the  well-thrown  apple  smacked  stingingly 
between  Jim's  shoulders. 

He  didn't  make  a  sound,  just  turned  the  most 
pitiful-looking  face  to  the  window,  and  then 
rushed  across  the  hall.  "They've  done  it  at 
last,"  he  gasped,  bursting  in  upon  the  Seniors. 
"  Where's  the  doctor  ?  I'm  shot,  I'm  shot.  You 
fellows  explain  it  all  to  mother,  how  a  man  has 
to  run  his  chances  when  he  goes  to  college." 

A  full  explanation  appeared  in  the  next  issue 
of  the  &gis. 

F.  V.  BENNIS. 
Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly. 

An  Alien, 

"  THROW  up  your  hands,  there  !  " 

The  answer  was  the  flash  and  crack  from 
three  rifles.  A  trooper  lurched  forward  heavily 
over  his  horse's  neck. 


124  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"Fire!"  cried  the  sheriff. 

The  Boy  sighted  along  his  gun-barrel  as  coolly 
as  though  he  were  at  home  on  his  grandfather's 
farm,  shooting  at  a  mark.  All  three  men  on 
the  opposite  bank  fell.  Two  struggled  to  rise, 
but  one  lay  motionless.  The  troopers  splashed 
into  the  ford,  the  Boy  following  them.  An 
excitement  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before 
had  succeeded  his  calmness.  The  sheriff  bent 
over  the  dead  man. 

"  Charlie  Kirk  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "the  leader  of 
the  whole  gang.  He's  your  man  too,  sonny," 
turning  to  the  Boy.  "  Only  one  of  your  slugs 
could  make  that,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  hole  in 
the  man's  forehead  from  which  the  blood  was 
oozing,  drop  by  drop.  The  Boy  looked  at  the 
dead  face.  It  was  young  and  handsome,  and 
the  repose  of  death  gave  it  a  refinement, 
almost  a  nobility,  which  it  might  have  lacked 
in  life. 

"  Did  I  do  that  ? "  muttered  the  Boy,  thickly. 

"  Makes  you  feel  sort  of  winded,  don't  it  ? " 
said  the  sheriff.  "  I  recollect  the  first  time  I 
knocked  over  a  man  myself.  But  you  needn't 
cry  much  over  him.  He's  the  biggest  horse- 
thief  in  Arizona,  and  I  reckon  he's  plugged 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  125 

several  of  that  kind  of  holes  in  the  citizens  of 
these  parts." 

The  Boy  mounted  his  horse  unsteadily.  "  I 
guess  I'll  go  up  to  camp,"  he  said,  and,  paying 
no  heed  to  the  sheriff's  laugh,  he  rode  into  the 
ford  again. 

As  the  Boy  wound  slowly  up  the  trail  he 
wondered  if  it  could  be  only  two  months  since 
he  was  mowing  hay  on  the  old  farm  in  New 
Hampshire,  and  moving  his  scythe  carefully  lest 
he  should  hurt  some  of  the  many  little  crea 
tures  that  live  in  the  meadows.  To-day  he  had 
killed  a  man  as  indifferently  as  he  would  have 
shot  a  squirrel.  What  was  it  to  him  if  the  man 
was  a  horse-thief  ?  He  had  not  stolen  his  horse. 
In  New  Hampshire  horses  were  not  considered 
of  so  much  more  value  than  men. 

When  he  looked  up  at  last  he  saw  that  he  was 
on  a  new  trail,  leading  over  a  part  of  the  moun 
tain  unknown  to  him.  All  about  him  was  the 
dark,  solemn  mountain,  without  sign  of  civilisa 
tion  except  one  cabin  in  the  bend  of  the  trail. 
Flowers  blossomed  in  the  plot  around  it,  vines 
twined  over  the  little  porch,  and  wrhite  curtains 
fluttered  at  the  windows.  Homesick  tears  filled 
the  Boy's  eyes,  it  was  all  so  cheerful  and  happy 


126      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

in  the  midst  of  that  dreary  land.  A  woman 
stepped  into  the  trail  from  the  open  door.  She 
was  young  and  sweet-faced.  The  late  sunlight 
made  her  brown  hair  gleam  like  bronze  and 
touched  her  cheeks  with  rose.  Her  eyes,  as 
she  lifted  them  to  the  Boy,  were  as  soft  and 
innocent  as  a  little  child's.  The  Boy  gave  a 
great  sigh  like  one  awakening  from  an  evil 
dream  ;  life  out  in  the  far,  strange  country  was 
not  all  violence  and  death. 

"  Good  evening,  stranger,  won't  you  'light  ? " 
said  the  woman.  "  We'll  have  some  supper  as 
soon  as  my  husband  comes.  I'm  waiting  for 
him  now.  Maybe  you  passed  him  ?  His  name's 
Charlie  Kirk."  The  hand  on  the  horse's  bridle 
twitched  violently  and  a  fierce  trouble  leaped 
into  the  Boy's  eyes,  but  his  voice  was  steady  as 
he  answered,  "  No,  ma'am,  I  ain't  ever  known 
him.  I've  got  to  be  pushing  on,  thank  you  !  " 

As  he  spurred  his  horse  down  the  trail, 
although  he  did  not  know  it,  he  was  the  Boy 
no  more. 

GRACE  MARGARET  GALLAHER. 

Vassar  Miscellany. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  127 


At  the  End  of  It- 

SOMETIMES  it  is  the  college  life  that  brings 
out  in  a  man's  four  years  the  best  that  is  in 
him  ;  sometimes  it  is  the  struggle  for  college 
life.  I  have  known  men  to  sing  and  whistle 
away  their  dinner-hour,  lest  others  returning 
well  filled  should  think  them  hungry.  I  have 
known  men  to  grind  out  good  mathematics 
under  the  impetus  of  a  gnawing  abdomen  ;  to 
grow  harsh  and  disagreeable  under  the  double 
strain,  and  yet  withal  to  retain  a  tender  feeling 
for  the  college  mother.  It  was  the  last  night  of 
the  year,  with  the  big  hall  deserted  and  lone 
some,  that  one  such  man  came  into  my  room, 
and  strolling  to  the  window  looked  out  into  the 
darkness  of  the  court  below.  I  knew  he  did 
not  wish  to  talk,  so  I  left  him  to  himself.  His 
story  I  knew  too  well. 

He  had  entered  college  an  unknown  Fresh 
man  ;  he  had  waited  on  table  for  his  board ;  he 
had  passed  papers  for  his  room  rent ;  had  gone 
on  to  the  gridiron  in  the  afternoon,  and  studied 
late  into  the  night.  After  two  years  the  honours 
came,  first  the  "  S,"  then  the  captain  of  it,  but 


128      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

even  that  could  not  atone  for  the  hardships  still 
pressing.  A  *  Varsity  captain  must  live,  and  the 
bigger  he  is  the  more  he  must  eat.  In  the  last 
days  he  was  a  hero,  but  his  previous  struggle 
made  light  the  honour  he  should  have  felt. 
"  Let's  go  and  get  drunk,"  he  said,  at  last,  turn 
ing  suddenly.  I  was  trying  to  solve  him,  and 
was  rinding  the  problem  hard.  I  laid  my  pipe 
away  and  took  down  my  hat  without  replying. 
He  opened  the  door  and  we  went  out.  A  hun 
dred  yards  down  the  road  he  stopped.  "  I  don't 
want  to  get  drunk,"  he  said  ;  "  I've  never  been 
drunk  in  my  four  years.  Let's  steal  fruit  —  any 
thing —  I  can't  stand  it."  We  started  toward 
the  orchards,  known  of  old  to  the  Phi-Phis,  but 
we  had  not  gone  far  when  he  stopped  again. 

"  I'm  going  to  bed,  old  man,"  he  exclaimed, 
and  turned  about.  I  was  still  studying  him, 
when  he  opened  the  conversation. 

"  I  haven't  any  blankets  to-night,"  he  began  ; 
"  they  are  in  my  trunk,  and  my  trunk  is  in  Palo 
Alto.  As  I  spent  my  first  night,  when  the 
student's  transfer  forgot  my  trunk,  so  I  spend 
my  last  one, — between  the  mattresses." 

"My  roommate  is  away,"  I  said;  "take  his 
bed."  So  it  was  agreed. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  1 29 

We  reached  the  hall,  and,  turning  down  the 
dark  passage,  climbed  the  stairs  to  my  room. 
At  the  entrance  he  stopped  and  spoke.  He 
began  harshly,  but  before  he  finished  speaking 
his  voice  broke. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  sleep  here,"  he  said.    "  I'm 
going  to  my  own  room.     It's  the  last  —  night 
—  and —  I'll  not  be  here  again." 

An  hour  later,  taking  some  bedclothes  in  my 
arms,  I  slipped  around  to  his  room  and  quietly 
opened  the  door.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
was  the  bed,  and  between  the  mattresses  a 
figure. 

"  I  brought  you  some  bedclothes,"  I  began. 

"  Go  'way,  Ham,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want 
them." 

I  left  him  and  closed  the  door,  and  he  was 
alone  with  his  room. 

J.   R.   HAMILTON. 

Stanford  Sequoia. 

Told  by  the  Doctor. 

DOCTOR  B.  never  partook  of  our  hospitality 
without  duly  rewarding  us  with  a  story,  usually 
a  personal  experience ;  and  as  he  had  spent  a 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

large  part  of  his  life  in  India,  as  surgeon  in 
the  British  army,  the  tales  were  varied  and 
exciting. 

We  had  been  discussing  the  possibility  of 
death  caused  by  fright,  and  some  one  had  made 
the  statement  that  it  was  all  foolishness  to 
believe  that  a  man  was  ever  killed  in  that  way. 

"I  know  better,"  said  the  doctor.  "Listen 
to  this  little  incident  of  my  life  in  India,  and 
then  see  what  you  think  about  it. 

"We  had  just  finished  tiffin,  and  were  sitting 
around  the  table  trying  to  keep  cool.  We  con 
versed  in  a  desultory  fashion,  until  we  got  started 
on  the  subject  of  snakes,  when  young  J.  stated 
that  he  had  been  in  India  six  months,  and  as  yet 
had  not  seen  a  cobra. 

"  '  What  would  you  do,  if  you  suddenly  became 
aware  that  a  cobra  was  crawling  across  your 
leg  ? '  I  idly  asked. 

"  '  Do  ?  Why,  I'd  knock  it  off  like  a  flash,  and 
shoot  it.' 

"« You'd  be  a  fool  if  you  did/  said  old  Major 
C,  as  he  tipped  back  his  chair,  and  thrust  his 
arm  through  the  open  window,  resting  it  on  the 
sill. 

"  '  Well,  then,  what  would  you  do  ? '  asked  J. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  131 

"  '  Sit  still  till  he'd  crawled  off,  and  then  shoot 
him,'  said  the  major. 

" « There  isn't  a  man  living  who  has  the 
nerve  — ' 

" '  For  God's  sake  don't  move,  major,'  I  inter 
rupted,  in  a  whisper  ;  « don't  stir,  don't  breathe  ; 
there's  one  of  those  devils  crawling  up  your  arm.' 

"  The  major  turned  a  shade  paler,  but  sat  like 
a  statue  carved  from  stone ;  not  a  muscle  in  his 
face  moved,  and  he  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe. 
J.  and  I  were  almost  as  still,  as  we  watched  the 
devilish,  beautiful  thing  with  a  sort  of  fascination. 
It  seemed  unaware  of  our  presence,  and  glided 
slowly  along  the  man's  arm,  over  his  shoulder, 
and  across  his  breast,  stopping  from  time  to 
time,  and  swaying  its  head  gracefully  from  side 
to  side. 

"  The  suspense  was  horrible,  but  we  could  do 
nothing,  as  the  slightest  movement  on  our  part 
meant  death  to  our  companion.  At  last  the 
creature  slid  slowly  down  to  the  ground,  and  had 
glided  half-way  to  the  door,  when  J.  suddenly 
drew  his  revolver,  and  fired,  blowing  the  brute 
to  atoms. 

" '  You  have  wonderful  nerves,  major,'  I  said, 
turning  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  made  no  reply, 


132  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

but  sat  staring  straight  ahead,  with  fixed,  glazed 
eyes.  I  touched  his  hand,  but  drew  away  in 
horror,  for  it  was  rigid. 

"And  that,"  said  the  doctor,  "is  how  I  know 
that  death  can  be  caused  by  fright." 

The  Tech. 

Overheard — In  Arcady? 

"  WELL,  now,  I  think  —  " 

"  Oh,  Lord !  Be  quiet,  will  you  ?  Think  ! 
Keep  thinking ! " 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  think —  " 

"  But  you  don't  think.  You  only  think  you 
think." 

"  Bah,  lad.  You  talk  like  a  Shakespeare  fool 
at  his  worst." 

"  And  you  —  you  talk  like  Hall  Caine  at  his 
best.  Now,  let  me  work." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  going  to  say  —  " 

"That's  better!  Oh,  Lord,  that's  better! 
'  Going  to  say ! '  A  moment  ago  you  were 
going  to  think.  But  whatever  you're  going  to 
do,  leave  me  out  of  it." 

«  Well  —  " 

"  Shut  up  !  " 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  133 

"  I  was  going  to  say  —  " 

"  Again  ? " 

"  I've  got  to  be  going  along." 

"  How  ?  \Vhat  ?  Don't  be  an  ass,  man.  I'll 
be  through  this  stuff  in  a  couple  of  minutes,  and 
then  we'll  hit  up  the  pipe  and  sherry.  Sit  down  ! 
Well,  if  you  won't,  go  to  the  devil.  Good  night, 
Mike." 

Harvard  Advocate. 


Fable  of  the  Two  Men  and  the 
Pomegranate. 

Now  it  happened  once  upon  a  time  that  two 
young  men  were  travelling  along  a  country  road 
and  conversing  of  ambition.  The  one  said,  "  I 
am  ever  striving  for  lofty  ideals  and  high  favours, 
for  'tis  only  thus  that  one  can  become  President." 

The  other  said,  "  I  take  what  fortune  throws 
into  my  lap.  The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the 
undertaker's,  and  I'm  a  democrat,  anyway." 

Now  they  had  not  gone  many  paces  when  they 
saw  by  the  roadside  a  pomegranate-tree  with  a 
single  pom  hanging  from  a  lofty  branch. 

"  I  wish  that  I  had  it,"  sighed  the  fellow. 


134  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"I,  too,  wish  it,"  said  the  other,  "but  I  do 
more  than  idly  wish.  Behold !  "  So  saying, 
he  climbed  into  the  tree  after  it.  But  just  as  he 
was  about  to  grasp  it  the  wind  swayed  the 
branch,  the  fruit  fell,  and  the  fellow  below 
caught  it  and  ate  it. 

IMMORAL. 

Caesar  was  ambitious.  What's  the  use,  any 
way  ? 

Princeton  Tiger. 

Unavailable* 

THE  two  subsequent  tales  were  perpetrated 
by  a  secret  concentration  of  several  "  Courant 
stories."  In  a  manner  they  are  epitomes  of  the 
sort  of  thing  it  doesn't  pay  to  "hand  in." 

This  is  one  sort : 

It  was  an  awf'ly  fine  day.  Really  delicious. 
There  were  lots  of  pretty  girls  about.  And  a 
soft,  balmy  breeze  was  sighing  in  the  trees.  The 
girls  were  very  pretty.  It  was  distracting.  So 
thought  Archibald  Waters.  Archibald  threw 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  135 

aside  his  book  with  a  muttered  curse.  He  could 
see  the  pretty  girls  from  his  window.  And  he 
knew  that  a  balmy  breeze  was  sighing  through 
the  trees. 

"  Oh,"  he  sighed,  pacing  his  room  like  a 
panther,  and  again,  "Oh."  Suddenly  his  face 
grew  diabolic.  His  white  lips  curled  back  from 
his  clenched  teeth.  "  Darn  it !  "  he  cried  aloud 
in  anguish.  Suddenly  he  staggered  backward. 
He  pressed  his  hands  to  his  fevered  brow.  He 
was  thinking  of  his  mother.  Etc. 

This  is  the  other  sort : 

The  prairie  rolled  away.  Distant  grumblings 
of  thunder  grumbled.  It  was  going  to  rain. 

My  little  mustang  was  nervous.  And  I, 
although  I  have  seen  so  many  horrible  things, 
ah !  so  very  many  horrible  things,  I  too  was 
nervous.  A  premonition  that  something  hor 
rible  was  going  to  happen  came  over  me  like 
a  flash.  It  was  horrible  ! 

My  hair  rose  swiftly,  and  I  glanced  at  my 
Indian  guide,  who  was  riding  sullenly  at  my  side, 
as  he  had  done  for  many,  many  miles,  saying 
nothing,  but  looking  surly  and  sullen,  and  so 


136  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

murderous  that  I  had  already  frequently  cursed 
my  childlike  foolishness  in  taking  unto  myself 
such  a  devil,  such  a  brute,  such  a  —  Suddenly 
it  began  to  rain,  and  fearing  if  it  continued  we 
would  get  wet,  I  dismounted  from  my  little 
mustang,  who  was  appearing  still  more  nervous, 
as  if  she,  too,  felt  the  fell  clutch  of  the  horrible 
premonition  which  had  come  over  her  beloved 
master  like  a  flash. 

We  encamped.  The  prairie  rolled  away.  It 
rained,  ah  !  so  drearily. 

I  turned  to  my  Indian  guide. 

He  was  not  there  ! 

So  it  was  true ! 

Something  had  happened. 

Etc. 

These  two  may  be  classed  as  the  "  Lyric 
Love,"  and  the  "Epic  Indian."  They  are  fre 
quently  astonishing ;  but  they  do  not  interest 
a  sufficiently  large  number  of  readers.  This  is 
our  sole  objection  to  them. 

SAMUEL  G.   CAMP. 

Yale  Courant. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  137 


A  Queen* 

HE  loafed  into  the  room,  slumped  into  the 
window-seat  and  gazed  reflectively  at  the  last 
faint  traces  of  a  once  gorgeous  sunset.  In  the 
silence  that  followed,  I  suppose  he  thought  that 
he  was  communing  with  me,  for  we  are  believers 
in  that  poetic  creed.  But  I  was  worrying  over 
a  cash  book  with  two  ends  that  couldn't  be  per 
suaded  to  meet,  and  the  golden  medium  didn't 
work.  He  heaved  a  sigh  or  two,  —  to  no  avail, 
for  I  was  chasing  an  errant  thought,  —  and 
finally  spoke  in  tragic  tones  : 

"  She's  a  queen  !  " 

"  No  doubt." 

"  But  she'd  show  a  good  head  if  she  wouldn't 
come  over  to  any  more  football  games." 

"No  doubt."  (I  was  making  a  mental  tour 
of  all  the  stores  in  town  now,  and  had  worried 
the  difference  down  to  less  distressing  dimen 
sions.) 

"There  are  two  things  an  average  girl  can't 
do  —  " 

"More  than  that." 

"  One  is  to  preserve  her  beauty  in  the  surf, 


138  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

and  the  other  is  to  show  intelligence  on  the  side 
lines." 

"  No  doubt."  (It  was  a  mere  matter  of  dimes 
now  and  I  rejoiced  that  the  end  was  near.) 
There  was  an  ominous  silence  followed  by  a 
thud  as  a  pillow  landed.  I  gave  up  the  chase 
and  paid  undivided  attention. 

"  Give  me  no  more  of  your  doubts  and  no 
doubts,"  he  said.  "  What  I  want  is  a  little  sym 
pathy.  Got  her  well  seated  on  the  stand,  and  just 
began  to  give  her  a  pointer  or  two,  when  she  waxed 
poetical.  Said  the  five-yard  marks  reminded  her 
of  the  first  verse  in  <  Tosti's  Farewell/  " 

«  How's  that  ? " 

"'Lines  of  white  on  a  sullen  sea!'  Didn't 
like  the  uniforms  as  well  as  white  ducks  and 
cheviots.  Wanted  to  know  why  they  kept  stop 
ping  to  stand  up  in  those  funny  rows.  Won 
dered  why  we  didn't  kick  a  goal  from  our  own 
ten-yard  line.  Noticed  that  one  of  them  hit 
another  when  he  didn't  need  to.  And  finally 
crooned  for  joy  when  a  run  of  fifty  yards  was 
made  around  our  left  end." 

"Well,  it's  all  over  now,"  I  said,  in  attempt 
to  comfort  him.  "  You  won't  have  to  go  through 
it  again." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  139 

"  Yes,  I  will,  too,"  he  said,  quickly.  And  then 
he  tried  to  look  unconcerned  : 

"Oh  !  —  you  will  ?" 

But  he  went  away.  Just  because  I  laughed, 
I  suppose.  But  he's  right.  She  is  a  queen. 

AmJierst  Literary  Monthly. 

At  Mott  Haven, 

THE  race  had  started.  Before  I  had  time  to 
notice  anything  —  before  my  brain  had  recovered 
from  the  strain  of  listening  for  the  pistol  —  we 
all  rose  mechanically  to  the  first  hurdle.  Then 
ideas  began  to  flash  in,  clear  and  distinct.  Be 
fore  the  second  hurdle  I  realised  that  I  was 
behind,  and  even  recognised  my  opponents, 
partly  by  remembering  their  positions  at  the 
start,  partly  by  noticing  their  peculiar  gaits. 
There  was  Bright ;  and,  to  my  left,  Stevens  ;  be 
yond  him,  the  six-feet-four  of  Heard,  —  two  from 
Yale,  she  had  one  place  sure.  At  the  third 
hurdle  I  was  still  behind,  but  gaining  ;  last  year, 
too,  they  were  all  ahead  of  me  for  half  the  race. 

The  fourth  flight :  I  could  hear  the  crowd 
yelling,  and  could  distinguish  my  name  in  the 
babel.  One  voice,  puzzlingly  familiar,  rose 


I4O  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

above  the  others  in  a  cry  of  "  Harvard."  Weeks 
afterward,  a  friend  surprised  me  (for  he  is 
not  usually  interested  in  athletics)  by  men 
tioning  that  he  had  seen  the  race.  At  once 
I  was  back  on  the  track  and  hearing  his 
"Harvard." 

At  the  fifth  hurdle  —  half-way  through  the 
race  —  we  were  all  abreast.  She  said  they  had 
seats  opposite  the  hundred  finish  ;  that  was  the 
next  flight ;  but  I  remembered  how  Conant  fell 
last  year,  and  did  not  dare  look  round  even  to 
see  if  she  was  wearing  that  bit  of  ribbon.  Yet 
I  must  have  begun  to  dream  of  last  winter,  of 
the  dances  before  I  went  into  training,  for  all  at 
once  there  were  only  two  hurdles  in  front  of  me. 
How  like  clock-work  the  long  weeks'  training 
had  made  the  motion.  Seven  steps  and  a  — 

And  then  I  felt  some  one  spurting  behind  me 
on  my  left  —  that  must  be  Stevens.  I  had 
never  run  against  him  before ;  if  he  should 
prove  a  strong  finisher !  Bright  noticed  his 
spurt,  too,  and  tried  to  equal  him.  But,  instead, 
he  weakened  terribly,  and  fell  behind  over  the 
ninth  hurdle. 

That  was  my  time,  I  knew.  With  the  extra 
effort  came  a  sense  of  exhilaration.  How  easy 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  14! 

it  had  been  to  clear  the  ninth  flight,  and  what  a 
pleasure  it  was  to  run  ! 

Yet  how  odd  it  all  was, — the  judges  and 
timers  pressing  forward  around  the  finish-line, 
the  crowd  cheering  and  excited,  and  we  four 
running  and  jumping  bars  of  wood  placed  in  our 
path.  Why  did  we  do  it  ?  ... 

The  last  flight  of  all,  and  then  the  twenty- 
yard  sprint,  straight  at  the  crowd  on  the  track, 
the  snapping  of  the  tape  across  my  chest,  and 
friends  grasping  my  hand. 

J.  W.   HOPFORD. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Metamorphosis* 

Two  years  ago  she  flunked  lightly  through 
Trig.  I  sat  back  of  her  all  that  quarter,  and 
worshipped  the  underneath  of  her  chin,  her 
hair,  her  choking  collar,  her  wee,  wee  waist,  and 
her  swagger  little  Oxfords.  I,  with  the  rest  of 
the  men,  did  her  homage,  knelt  to  her,  and 
burnt  incense  in  unobtrusive  silence.  She  was 
to  me  the  very  essence  of  light  fun  and  sweet 
feminine  caprice.  She  footed  it  so  neatly  through 
her  cobwebby  loves  and  gaieties. 


142  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

To-day  I  saw  her  with  her  husband.  She  is 
still  that  striking  thing,  —  a  woman  with  a  beau 
tiful  back,  who  does  not  shock  you  when  she 
turns  around.  But  I  surprised  in  her  eyes,  with 
the  glance  of  recognition,  a  look  so  grave  and 
sad  that  I  wondered  if  she  found  life  a  Strauss 
waltz,  —  bubbling  foam  above  and  heaven  knows 
what  briny  bitterness  beneath. 

A. 
University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

Two  and  Two* 

"  DICK,"  she  said,  arching  her  eyebrows,  "  do 
you  really  love  me  ?  " 

"  By  the  eternal  stars  !  "  I  cried. 

"  If  you  swear  such  oaths,  I  shall  be  afraid 
you're  trying  to  convince  yourself,"  she  re 
marked,  lifting  her  chin  at  a  high  angle. 

I  kissed  her. 

"Why  did  you  dance  so  often  with  Alice 
Weston  last  night  ? "  she  said,  with  a  pout. 

"  She  is  the  best  dancer  here,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh,  is  she  ?  " 

"Ah,  sweet,  is  it  worth  while  to  say  that  two 
and  two  make  four  ?  Always  excepting  you." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  143 

"  Sha'n't  I  fill  your  pipe  for  you  ?  "  she  said. 
That  is  what  she  always  does  when  she  is 
pleased.  I  gave  it  to  her.  She  very  slowly 
packed  the  tobacco  into  the  bowl  with  her  little 
finger.  I  had  once  been  foolish  enough  to  tell 
her  she  never  looked  quite  as  pretty  as  when 
she  was  doing  that. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  when  she  handed  me  the 
pipe  at  length,  "  it  is  certainly  true." 

"  What  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  I  don't  think  you  would  be  interested," 
said  I. 

"  Oh,  if  you  adopt  that  tone,  I'm  going,"  she 
said,  fastening  two  large  blue  ribbons  under  her 
chin. 

"Would  you  like  to  know  ? "  I  asked. 

"Good-bye,"  she  answered,  with  a  radiant 
smile. 

"Well,  then,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  then  ? " 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  I  was  merely  thinking  that, 
after  all,  I  am  really  quite  fond  of  you." 

She  gave  vent  to  a  little  laugh.  "  Two  and 
two  always  did  make  four,"  said  she. 

The  Morningside. 


144          CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 


The  Man  from  Yale* 

I  ALWAYS  pitied  Tom,  because  he  had  such 
hard  luck  with  his  love  affairs.  He  was  con 
tinually  getting  smitten  with  some  girl,  going 
through  the  usual  agonies  of  doubt,  jealousy, 
and  all  that ;  and  then,  finally  disillusioned,  he 
would  settle  down  to  sensible  life  till  the  next 
girl  came  along,  which  was  generally  in  about 
six  months.  I  hadn't  laid  eyes  on  the  man  for 
two  years ;  and  when  I  met  him  at  the  club, 
one  afternoon  last  November,  —  it  was  the  day 
before  Thanksgiving,  —  his  cheery  "  Hello,  old 
man !  By  Jove  !  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you ! " 
sent  the  old-time  enthusiasm  of  a  college  friend 
ship  like  a  thrill  into  my  heart.  He  looked 
robust  and  hearty ;  no  more  nonsense  about 
girls  for  him,  I  opined. 

Then  he  began  :  "  Do  you  know,  old  man," 
with  a  rather  quizzical  look,  "  I  was  pretty  hard 
hit  last  summer." 

His  face  bore  the  old  confidential  expression, 
and  my  heart  sank.  I  knew  I'd  got  to  listen, 
so  I  started  a  fresh  pipe  and  leaned  comfortably 
back. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  145 

"  I  met  lots  of  girls  last  summer.  There  was 
a  girl  at  Bar  Harbour,  who  seemed  afterward 
to  be  so  sweet  on  that  Harvard  chap,  —  I've 
forgotten  his  name,  —  but  she  didn't  count. 
Neither  did  that  blonde  at  Marblehead,  who 
used  to  go  sailing  with  Jim  Trask  so  much. 
You  remember  Jim,  —  big,  dark-skinned  fellow, 
who  played  on  the  'Varsity  when  Thomas  was 
captain.  The  girl  I  mean  was  the  one  at  Isles- 
boro,  —  lovely  soft  brown  hair,  and  great  deep 
eyes  that  looked  you  right  through ;  you  know 
the  kind. 

"  We  seemed  to  get  along  well  from  the  very 
first.  I  remember  I  danced  with  her  four  times 
the  first  night  I  met  her,  and  got  myself  dis 
liked  for  it  by  all  the  other  men.  Jealous,  you 
see.  That  didn't  bother  me  any,  nor  her,  for 
that  matter,  for  we  used  to  have  most  of  the 
dances  together  at  every  hop.  We  went  to 
walk  a  lot,  too,  and  —  well,  hang  it,  you  know 
how  a  fellow  gets  to  feeling  when  he  is  thrown 
much  with  a  nice  girl.  I  cared  for  her  a  great 
deal.  I  had  been  soft  on  girls  before,"  —  charm 
ing  frankness,  I  thought,  —  "  but  this  was  so 
different,"  —  like  all  the  rest,  I  contradicted 
mentally. 


146  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Of  course  everybody  made  a  pile  of  talk, 
but  I  was  the  happiest  man  in  all  Maine,  till 
along  came  a  man  from  —  " 

"  Let  me  finish  your  yarn  for  you.  Along 
came  a  man  from  Yale." 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  he  was  a  Yale  man,  but  —  " 

"  No  buts,  please.  This  Yale  man  was  good- 
looking  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Athletic?" 

"Rather." 

"  Got  quickly  into  her  good  graces  —  " 

"Wait,  I  tell  you.     He  —  " 

"  No,  I'll  go  on.  They  were  together  a  great 
deal  ? " 

"  Now,  see  here,  you're  the  biggest  —  " 

"And  I  dare  say  he  used  to  take  her  hand 
now  and  then  ?  " 

"  You're  a  perfect  ch —  " 

"  Even  kissed  her  ?  " 

Tom  looked  as  though  he  would  have  liked  to 
eat  me.  I  was  simply  taking  the  wind  out  of 
his  sails,  and  he  didn't  like  it. 

"And  was  always  the  last  one  to  say  good 
night  to  her,  —  in  short,  cut  you  out  entirely, 
and  was  safe  at  last  in  calling  her  his  own. 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  147 

Honestly,   old   man,   I'm    dead    sorry   for   you. 
I've  been  used  that  way  myself." 

I  smiled  good-naturedly.  I  dearly  love  to 
spoil  a  man's  story,  though  it's  mean,  I  admit. 

Tom  looked  hard  at  me  for  a  minute. 

"You're  a  born  fool!"  he  said,  deliberately. 
"  If  you'll  let  me,  I'll  finish  my  story  myself, 
and  finish  it  straight ;  and  if  you'll  take  dinner 
with  me  to-morrow  I'll  prove  it." 

"  Delighted,  I'm  sure !  " 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  I  married  that  girl  last 
October.  That  Yale  man  was  her  father,  Class 
of  '69." 

And  I  didn't  say  a  thing. 

The  Tech. 

The  Hazing  of  Sammy* 

THE  first  Monday  in  September  came  at  last. 
Sammy  Mosely  had  looked  forward  to  it  with 
great  eagerness ;  for  it  was  to  be  an  important 
day  in  his  life.  It  was  to  be  his  fifth  birthday ; 
he  was  to  graduate  from  petticoats  into  trousers, 
and  he  was  to  begin  his  career  at  the  district 
school. 

It  seemed  to  Sammy  that  half-past  eight  would 


148  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

never  come.  He  tramped  impatiently  about  the 
sitting-room,  every  now  and  then  casting  a  shy 
glance  of  approval  at  himself  in  the  glass.  He 
certainly  did  look  attractive.  His  new  suit  fitted 
him  well,  his  new  necktie  was  a  beautiful  shade 
of  red,  and  his  round,  freckled  face  shone  with 
soap  and  satisfaction. 

At  last  his  mother  told  him  he  might  start 
for  school.  She  stood  in  the  door  and  watched 
him  proudly  as  he  went  down  the  path.  He 
had  a  red  apple  clutched  tightly  in  one  hand. 
Under  his  arm  he  carried  a  new  slate,  with  a 
sponge  and  a  slate-pencil  tied  to  its  frame  by 
a  long  pink  string.  He  marched  bravely  along 
undaunted  by  fears  of  anything  that  the  new 
experience  might  bring  him.  His  mother  had 
offered  to  go  with  him,  since  this  was  his  first 
morning,  but  her  offer  had  been  a  blow  to  his 
pride  and  he  had  refused  indignantly.  There  had 
been  signs  of  a  tempest  of  tears,  so  she  had  hastily 
withdrawn  her  offer,  but  her  assurance  for  his 
well-being  was  by  no  means  so  great  as  his  own. 

"  Sammy,"  she  had  said,  impressively,  as  he 
was  about  to  start,  "  I  want  you  to  let  the  big 
boys  alone.  Just  so  sure  as  you  don't  you'll 
come  to  trouble." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  149 

With  a  beaming  face,  Sammy  had  promised. 
His  mother  watched  him  out  of  sight,  then 
she  returned  to  the  kitchen  to  her  Monday's 
washing. 

Some  time  later,  as  she  was  putting  up  her 
clothes-line  in  the  yard,  her  attention  was  at 
tracted  by  loud,  heart-broken  sobs.  She  recog 
nised  the  voice  and  hurried  to  the  gate.  Her  son 
was  coming  up  the  path  ;  all  his  manhood  gone. 
His  collar  was  half  off.  The  shine  had  disap 
peared  from  his  face,  and  the  apple  from  his 
hand.  The  slate  he  still  carried,  but  the 
sponge  and  a  broken  slate-pencil  dangled  de 
jectedly  from  the  string. 

"  Sammy,"  said  his  mother,  in  sorrowful, 
sympathetic  reproof,  "  why  couldn't  you  keep 
away  from  the  big  boys  ?  " 

"O —  O  — "  sobbed  Sammy,  in  a  louder 
burst  of  grief  and  rage,  "  I  d-d-did !  b-but  the 
b-big  girls  k-kissed  me." 

HARRIET  GOODRICH  MARTIN. 

Smith  College  Monthly. 


150  CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


A  Dangerous  Room-mate* 

A  CREW  man,  when  delirious,  makes  an  un 
pleasant  room-mate.  Last  spring,  during  a  bad 
case  of  grippe,  Tom  went  off  his  head ;  after 
tearing  our  rooms  to  pieces  generally,  he  threw 
me  violently  against  the  door  and  got  into  bed. 
Then  he  tucked  his  feet  under  the  lower  bar 
of  the  foot  of  his  bed  and  began  rowing  ato 
beat  the  band."  Shouts,  water,  light  could  not 
stop  him,  and  as  for  physical  effort  —  I  weigh  a 
hundred  and  twenty-three !  He  worked  away 
for  five  minutes,  and  would  have  kept  it  up  still 
longer  had  I  not  thought  of  reducing  him  sud 
denly  to  a  state  of  collapse  by  a  sharp  "  Let  'er 
run  !  " 

Harvard  Advocate. 

A  Scene  on  a  Kansas  Ranch. 

I  COULD  see  nothing  but  a  field  of  alfalfa 
which  stretched  away  and  away  into  a  wooded 
ravine  somewhere  off  on  the  horizon.  All 
around  were  low  wooden  triangles,  for  what, 
I  did  not  know.  Before  I  had  time  to  ask  I 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


saw  several  men  coming  with  five  wagons  loaded 
with  ground  corn,  which  the  men  unloaded  and 
put  in  the  triangles.  Then  they  began  a  loud, 
penetrating  call  which  sounded  like  "  Houpee, 
houp-ee,  h-o-u-p-e-e  !  "  In  a  twinkling  there 
formed  on  the  woody  horizon  a  big  black  cloud 
which  came  toward  us  with  marvellous  rapidity, 
and  quickly  resolved  itself  into  a  large  drove  of 
little  pigs  running  along  on  fast  pattering  hoofs. 
They  squealed  and  squealed  and  grunted  ;  they 
fell  down,  rolled  over,  threw  each  other  down  ; 
they  piled  themselves  three  deep  in  their  efforts 
to  get  at  one  trough.  At  last  they  were  dis 
tributed,  and  when  we  drove  away  we  left  six 
hundred  and  seventy-five  little  black  noses 
burrowing  in  ground  corn,  and  six  hundred  and 
seventy-five  throats  grunting  with  satisfaction. 

K.  M.  D. 
Wells  College  Chronicle. 

Dead  Broke. 

THROUGH  the  open  transom,  we  could  hear 
him  tramp  up  the  stairs  and  knock  at  the  first 
door  he  came  to. 

"I  wanted  to   see,"  he  apologised,    "if  you 


152  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

would  help    the    crew    out   financially.     We've 
got  to  raise  —  " 

"Oh,  I'm  dead  broke!" 

"  That's  the  common  cry,  but  the  fellows 
ought  to  support  athletics." 

"  Well,  come  in.     I  can't  do  much  for  you." 

The  door  of  the  unlucky  room  shut  with  a 
thud,  and  we  could  hear  the  distant  confusion 
of  voices  within. 

Presently,  all  along  the  corridor,  doors  opened 
softly,  and  the  inmates  of  six  rooms  found  busi 
ness  which  called  them  away  for  some  time,  for 
they  all  put  out  their  lights  before  they  slipped 
down  the  stairs. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

The  New  Term* 

"WELL,"  said  the  Soph,  coming  into  the 
Senior's  room,  "we  are  really  back,  aren't 
we  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  much  so,"  said  the  Senior,  grimly. 
She  was  sitting  on  the  floor  by  her  trunk,  with 
various  articles  spread  around  her,  and  she  looked 
hot,  and  just  a  trifle  cross.  The  Soph,  on  the 
contrary,  looked  cool  and  sweet-tempered. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  153 

"  I  can  hardly  realise  that  the  new  college 
year  has  really  begun/'  she  said,  cheerfully. 

"  Well,  really  —  have  you  unpacked  ?  That 
brings  it  home  to  me.  And  if  you  want  to 
make  it  still  more  real,  go  and  wrangle  with 
the  authorities  about  your  schedule,  and  then 
go  down-town  and  pay  eight  dollars  for  your 
books,  merely  as  a  starter." 

"  I  have  a  bill,  thank  goodness,"  said  the  Soph, 
fanning  languidly  with  a  note-book.  "And  I 
like  getting  my  books.  I  always  feel  as  if  I 
were  going  to  do  such  a  lot  of  work." 

"  I  know,"  assented  the  Senior,  rising  with 
an  armful  of  clothes.  "  Oh,  bother !  pick  up 
that  pile  of  handkerchiefs,  Mary.  Yes,  one 
does  feel  that  way.  I  always  like  to  fix  my 
schedule." 

"  If  only  the  feeling  would  last ;  but  it's  gen 
erally  pretty  well  gone  by  December." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Senior,  again.  "  Unfortu 
nately,  enthusiasm  does  turn  into  stupid  grind 
ing,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  One  doesn't  keep  on  seeing  the  good  of  it 
all,"  said  the  Soph,  regretfully. 

"Lest  we  forget,  lest  we  forget,"  quoted  the 
Senior,  sitting  down  on  the 'edge  of  the  trunk. 


154  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  But  I  suppose  the  enthusiasm  of  the  beginning 
ought  to  give  one  impetus  enough  to  get  over 
the  dull  parts." 

"After  coasting  down  one  hill,  one  oughtn't 
to  mind  pushing  up  the  next." 

"And,  after  all,  there  do  come  nice,  level 
places,  where  there's  just  work  enough  to  be 
pleasant,"  said  the  Senior,  carrying  on  the  fig 
ure.  "  You  just  have  to  take  it  as  it  comes.  Of 
course,  the  sandy  places,  and  the  muddy  ones, 
and  the  stony  ones,  are  disagreeable,  but  I've 
found  it's  best  to  keep  pedalling  on.  You  see, 
you've  either  got  to  go  on,  or  fall  off,  and  the 
former  is  generally  safer  and  pleasanter,  and 
saves  time." 

"  Don't  you  think  there's  some  way  of  spread 
ing  the  freshness  of  the  beginning  out  thin,  to 
last  over  the  session  ? "  asked  the  Soph,  after  a 
few  moments'  silence. 

"  No  ;  I  don't  believe  there  is.  The  novelty 
is  bound  to  wear  off." 

"But  one  misses  so  much." 

"Yes,  the  only  thing  I  know  is  to  try  and 
think  of  the  ultimate  object  when  things  seem 
tiresome,  and  freshen  up  one's  ardour  by  realis 
ing  it." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  155 

"  And  it  is  —  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  if  you  have  heard  commencement 
addresses  and  baccalaureate  sermons,  and  have 
read  numberless  essays  on  the  *  College  Girl,' 
without  discovering  that,  I  pity  your  obtuse- 
ness.  Can't  you  recall  that  much-used  phrase, 
an  all-round  girl,  or  to  put  it  more  elegantly,  a 
symmetrically  developed  woman  ?  " 

"  I  seem  to  have  heard  it,"  admitted  the 
Sophomore.  "  Oh,  dear !  if  one  could  only 
keep  up  to  the  point  one  gets  to  occasionally, 
when  it  is  impossible  to  aim  at  anything  lower 
than  a  star  !  " 

"One  could  hit  higher  things  than  trees, 
then,"  said  the  Senior,  fishing  the  last  articles 
out  of  her  trunk.  "  But,  after  all,  it's  the  daily 
round  that  makes  up  the  aggregate,  and  though 
that's  bound  to  be  humdrum  in  the  very  nature 
of  things,  it  can  be  turned  to  good  account,  if 
the  light  from  one's  star  is  only  strong  and 
steady." 

"And  to  keep  it  so?" 

"Why,  choose  the  right  sort  of  star,  and 
make  yourself  keep  on  caring  for  it.  Here's 
my  cap.  Don't  I  make  a  nice  Senior  ? " 

"You'll    be    cross-eyed    before    Christmas," 


156*  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

laughed  the  Soph.      "  Let  me  show  you  how  / 
look.     Oh,  dear,  there's  the  dressing  bell !  " 

"  That  old  familiar  sound  ought  to  make  you 
feel  at  home,"  said  the  Senior,  as  she  closed  her 
trunk  with  a  bang. 

"Just  what  it  doesrit  do,"  answered  the 
other,  and  she  ran  off,  whistling  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home." 

LOUISA  B.  GAMBRALL. 

The  Kalends. 

Inklings* 

"  MIRROR,"  said  the  beauty,  "  teach  me  the 
secret  of  unconsciousness." 

"  Never  look  me  in  the  face  again,"  reflected 
tno  mirror. 

One  day  Pride  stumbled  over  Happiness. 
"What  is  this  in  my  way  ? "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  would  look  down  you  could  see  me," 
was  the  answer. 

"  There  is  the  light  of  immortal  beauty  glow 
ing  from  your  eyes,"  sighed  the  bankrupt  suitor 
to  the  ugly  heiress. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  157 

"  Are  you  sure  it  doesn't  come  from  my  dia 
mond  earrings  ?  "  she  asked,  innocently. 

Fear  gazed  into  the  fierce  waves  where  Joy 
was  tossing.  "  I  dare  not  go,"  he  cried. 

Suddenly  Love  stood  by  his  side  and  touched 
him.  It  was  Courage  that  leaped  into  the  wave. 

"  Emerson  says, '  Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star  ; ' 
but  what  if  the  star  falls  ? "  asked  a  man  of  the 
philosopher. 

"  There  are  fixed  stars.  Go  study  your  as 
tronomy  and  try  another,"  answered  the  philos 
opher. 

Said  the  chicken  to  the  little  girl,  "  I  am  an 
angel,  for  I  have  wings." 

"  But  I'm  far  nearer  heaven  than  you,"  and 
the  child  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  sky. 

Then  the  chicken  found  it  could  fly  only  as 
high  as  the  hem  of  the  child's  dress. 

p.  R.  c. 
The  Mount  Holyoke. 


158  CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


The  Cat  the  Queen  Stroked* 

TERENCE  O'SHAY  of  the  Cork  Fusileers  was 
on  board  the  first  transport  of  convalescents 
sent  home  from  the  Crimea  after  the  fall  of 
Sebastopol  in  '55.  Though  no  treaty  of  peace 
had  as  yet  been  signed,  the  war  was  practically 
over  and  the  Allies  victorious  ;  and  so  this  first 
boat-load  of  invalids  was  welcomed  back  to 
England  with  all  the  prestige  of  conquerors. 
An  immense  crowd  collected  on  the  wharf  at 
Woolwich,  and  the  queen  herself  reviewed  the 
troops  in  the  square.  They  were  from  all  the 
regiments  in  the  service,  and  presented  a  rather 
forlorn  appearance  as  they  drew  up  in  a  long 
double  line  and  saluted  the  royal  party ;  but 
the  onlookers  gave  them  cheer  after  cheer, 
which  they  returned  lustily.  Then  the  queen 
made  a  pretty  little  speech  and  presented  them 
with  medals. 

Corporal  O'Shay  was  one  of  the  fortunate 
fifty  whose  insignia  were  pinned  on  by  Her 
Majesty's  own  hand.  He  still  relates  the  occur 
rence  periodically  for  the  benefit  of  contemporary 
historians.  "  '  Oi's  proud  av  yez/  sez  the  quane, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  159 

as  Oi  halted  afore  the  shtand  an'  puffed  up  me 
chist.  '  Bedad  an'  Oi'm  a  bit  proud  av  meself,' 
sez  Oi,  wid  a  wink  at  the  Djuke  av  York,  an' 
they  hot'  begins  to  laff ;  and  thin  "  —  and  Ter 
ence's  story  goes  on  like  Tennyson's  brook. 

Near  O'Shay  in  line  was  a  little  drummer- 
boy  with  a  big  gray  cat  hugged  close  in  his 
arms.  He  had  brought  it  all  the  way  from  the 
Crimea,  and  the  pair  naturally  attracted  a  good 
deal  of  attention ;  the  queen  took  the  cat  out 
of  the  child's  arms  and  petted  it  for  a  moment 
and  asked  the  boy  some  kindly  questions.  Such 
marked  notice  caused  considerable  surprise,  and 
the  papers  the  next  morning  spoke  of  the  in 
cident  at  some  length.  As  O'Shay  sat  smoking 
a  pipe  after  breakfast  and  idly  considering  the 
above  fact,  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  him 
which  necessitated  calling  together  his  two  old 
cronies,  O'Rourke  and  Sullivan,  in  hurried 
council. 

An  hour  later  a  respected  citizen  of  Green 
wich  encountered  an  Irish  soldier  sauntering 
along  one  of  the  main  streets  of  the  town  with 
a  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  an  unhappy  tom-cat 
under  his  arm.  It  was  the  respected  citizen 
who  made  the  first  advances. 


l6o  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  That's  a  fine  cat  you've  got  there,  my  man." 

"Yis,  your  honour,  'tis  a  foine  animal,"  an 
swered  Terence. 

"  What's  its  name  ? " 

"  Balaklava,  sorr." 

"  What !  you  didn't  bring  it  all  the  way  from 
the  Crimea,  did  you  ? " 

"  Oi  did,  sorr.  Oi  was  shot  in  the  shoulder 
a-laiding  the  Loight  Bregade  in  their  noble 
chairge,  sorr,  an'  whin  Oi  cam  to  me  senses  in 
the  hospitol,  sorr,  this  cat  was  purring  on  me 
cot,  sorr.  We've  bane  inseeperable  iver  since, 
sorr." 

"I  don't  suppose  this  is  the  cat  Her  Majesty 
made  so  much  of  yesterday,  is  it  ? " 

"The  viry  wan,  sorr." 

"  Why,  is  it  really  ? " 

"  Yis,  sorr  ;  ye  see,  sorr,  me  an'  Jimmy  —  he's 
the  drummer-bye,  ye  know  —  we  is  ould  pals, 
sorr,  an'  Oi  lave  him  carry  Balaklava  in  the 
parade  yisterday,  sorr." 

"You  wouldn't  care  to  part  with  it,  would 
you,  my  man  ? " 

"  Mony  couldn't  bouy  it,  sorr.  Puir  Jimmy, 
'is  'eart  'le  brake,  the  little  darlin'." 

And  so  the  conversation  progressed  by  easy 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  l6l 

stages  until  Terence  departed  with  his  fingers 
twined  lovingly  about  a  crinkly  pound  note  and 
his  eye  scanning  the  back-yard  fences  in  search 
of  other  available  Balaklavas. 

"  An'  how  monny  cats  did  yez  sell  the  day, 
Jimmy  ? "  asked  O'Shay  that  evening  when  the 
three  cronies  gathered  together  in  the  barracks. 

"  Fower." 

"  Ye  puir  inexpeerienced  phule,"  grunted 
Terence,  "  Oi  bagged  noin  meself." 

H.  D.  G. 
Yale  Literary  Magazine. 


Progress  of  the  Crews* 

(A  la  Daily  Sin.) 

THE  crew  room  presents  a  busy  scene  these 
days.  Our  reporter  made  his  usual  trip  to  the 
gymnasium  yesterday,  took  a  bath,  and  inter 
viewed  Mr.  Courtney  on  the  progress  of  the 
crews.  The  latter  very  cordially  placed  the 
coxswain's  seat  at  the  disposal  of  his  visitor, 
and,  note -book  in  hand,  our  representative 
recorded  the  following : 

No.  i.     Showed  weakness  in  conversational 


1 62  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

powers.  His  hair  was  parted  on  one  side,  caus 
ing  him  to  swing  far  to  the  left  with  every 
stroke. 

No.  2.  Had  a  very  inexpressive  face.  His 
clothing  was  not  nearly  new,  and  at  times  he 
perspired  in  a  disgraceful  manner.  He  is  by  no 
means  sure  of  his  seat. 

No.  3.  Extremely  discourteous.  When  No. 
4  dropped  a  stroke  he  refused  to  return  it  to 
him,  although  he  saw  the  loss  plainly. 

No.  4.  Drops  strokes  noisily  and  carelessly. 
Eats  tobacco  surreptitiously  and  looks  deceitful. 

No.  5.  One  arm  is  much  longer  than  the 
other.  Mr.  Courtney  says  that  a  knot  can  be 
easily  tied  which  will  make  both  arms  the  same 
length. 

No.  6.  Pulls  very  strongly.  At  times  he 
makes  a  swishing  noise.  It  is  presumed  that 
his  lungs  are  full  of  water. 

No.  7.  Has  a  hungry,  heavy,  ghoulish  stare. 
A  good  oarsman,  but  he  watches  the  nude  cervix 
of  No.  8  intently.  Mr.  Courtney  fears  he  is  a 
man-eater. 

No.  8.  Has  a  noticeable  lack  of  variety  in 
his  rowing.  Wears  a  Wittenberg  College  pin. 
When  asked  to  point  out  the  weak  points  of  the 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  163 

men  behind  him,  he  absolutely  declined  to  be 
interviewed. 

All  these  faults  Mr.  Courtney  expects  to 
correct  before  the  crews  get  on  the  water.  He 
said  that  he  wished  to  congratulate  the  Sin  on 
its  articles  on  athletics.  He  also  inquired  about 
the  subscription  rates.  The  Sin  has  determined 
to  cooperate  with  Mr.  Courtney  in  developing  a 
good  crew,  and  to  this  end  it  asks  the  support  of 
the  entire  student  body. 

The  Cornell  Widow. 

The  World's  End. 

THE  clear,  cold  air  made  our  blood  bound 
deliciously  as  we  set  off,  with  high  hope,  to 
seek  the  World's  End.  The  brown  road,  fringed 
with  rusty  grasses,  curved  away  indefinitely. 
The  earth  was  all  our  own,  with  no  house  or 
human  being  to  dispute  our  claim.  We  thrilled 
with  the  sense  of  possession.  Over  a  pond  dull 
brown  with  autumn  shadows  and  thick  grown 
with  rustling  reeds  the  road  led ;  then  past  a 
meadow  where  the  grass  was  still  bright  green. 
Across  its  rolling  surface  came  the  softened 
clang  of  a  cow-bell.  And  what  exquisite  be- 


164  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

wilderment  and  indecision  seized  us  at  the 
cross-roads !  For  three  would  lead  back  to 
the  peopled  world  we  had  left,  and  only  one 
to  the  World's  End.  Such  momentous  choice 
could  not  be  made  unaided.  We  murmured  a 
childish  formula,  and  turned  to  the  left.  Ah, 
yes !  surely  this  was  the  road  we  sought ;  for 
there,  far  above  us,  up  a  steep  hill  and  through 
a  gateway  of  dark  pines,  it  vanished  into  the 
blue  sky.  Longingly  we  gazed  at  the  goal  of 
our  desire,  soft  and  filmy  in  the  blue-gray  haze 
of  distance,  and  then  turned  back.  We  dared 
not  go  to  the  World's  End  after  all. 

L.  v.  N.   M. 
Wellesley  Magazine. 

The  Smoker. 

THE  sun  fought  its  way  through  the  dust- 
laden  windows,  pouring  down  on  the  heads  of 
the  few  passengers,  and  lighting  up  the  faded 
plush  on  the  seats,  while  the  shadows  of  the 
pine-trees  flitted  along  over  the  tobacco-stained 
floor. 

The  big  man  in  the  corner  looked  down  at 
his  neighbour  and  laughed.  "  Ye' re  dead  right," 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  165 

he  said.  "  I  ain't  been  back  fer  nigh  three 
years." 

The  other  smiled  sleepily.  "  Glad  to  git 
back,  ain't  ye  ? "  he  asked,  indifferently,  twist 
ing  his  finger  around  in  a  blackened  pipe-bowl. 

"  I  jist  be !  Dad  ought er  be  waitin'  fer  me 
a'ready  down't  the  platform.  On'y  one  more 
stop  ?  Ye  do  feel  good  when  ye  git  hum,  don't 
ye  ?  I  tell  ye,  daddy'll  give  half  his  old  heart 
to  git  sight  o'  me.  He's  jes'  that  fond  o'  me." 

His  neighbour  smiled  again,  and  went  on 
twisting  the  pipe-bowl  around.  The  big  man 
turned  to  the  window  and  gazed  out  at  the  end 
less  succession  of  pine-trees.  The  afternoon 
dragged  along.  The  train  creaked  and  jolted ; 
the  cinders  sifted  through  the  roof  and  settled 
down  on  everything  below.  The  sunlight  was 
gone  from  the  floor,  and  only  now  and  then  it 
struck  in  at  the  windows  through  a  clearing  in 
the  pines,  while  the  train  slowed  up.  It  stopped, 
with  a  long-drawn  hissing  of  steam.  Some  one 
came  through  from  the  forward  car  and  slammed 
the  door  behind  him.  The  big  man  by  the  door 
glanced  up  and  then  jumped  to  his  feet,  trem 
bling.  His  neighbour  looked  sleepily  from  one 
to  the  other.  The  newcomer  spoke  : 


1 66  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Ye'd  better  come  quiet-like,  Bob." 

The  big  man  looked  at  him  appealingly  and 
sobbed  a  little  and  then  swore,  but  he  picked 
up  his  hat  and  got  out  into  the  aisle. 

"  Ye'd  ought  'a  knowed  better'n  to  make  fer 
home,"  the  man  spoke,  reproachfully,  "  any  fool'd 
do  that." 

Bob  stopped  his  swearing  suddenly,  and  his  face 
twitched.    "  Yes,"  he  said,  "any  fool'd  do  that." 
DAVID  DE  F.  BURRELL. 

Yale  Literary  Magazine. 

Sweet  Is  True  Love. 

PHIL  was  puzzled.  He  tilted  his  chair  back, 
and  blew  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  into  the  air,  as 
if  hoping  to  find  in  the  blue  clouds  an  answer 
to  his  problem.  Was  ever  man  so  situated  ? 
Last  night,  when  he  started  in  such  spirits  for 
Mrs.  Seymour's  reception,  he  did  not  dream  of 
the  fate  hanging  over  him.  And  all  because 
of  those  two  girls.  Oh,  why  had  he  been  such 
a  fool  ?  He  remembered  seeing  Edith  soon 
after  he  entered  the  rooms  that  were  dazzling 
in  their  festal  array,  and  a  fit  setting  for  such 
a  jewel  of  a  girl.  Well,  she  did  look  handsome 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  167 

and  no  mistake,  and  after  the  dance  what  won 
der  that  he  asked  her  to  go  to  the  conservatory. 
And  then  —  and  then,  well,  the  first  thing  he 
knew  he  was  telling  her  how  much  he  loved 
her,  and  asking  her  to  be  his  wife.  And  she  ? 
She,  with  her  beautiful  eyes  cast  down,  prom 
ised  to  send  him  an  answer  on  the  morrow. 
Then  another  partner  claimed  her,  and  (here 
Phil  groaned)  who  should  come  up  but  Madge, 
saucy,  pretty  Madge,  looking  as  piquant  and 
bewitching  as  any  little  fairy  that  ever  beguiled 
a  man !  And  couldrit  Madge  dance  to  perfec 
tion  ?  In  the  conservatory  again,  among  the 
roses,  he  forgot  Edith,  forgot  everything  except 
that  Madge  was  the  prettiest  girl  he  ever  saw, 
and  —  and  he  proposed  to  her,  too  !  But  just 
as  the  words  passed  his  lips,  some  one  came  in 
to  claim  Madge  for  the  next  dance,  and  with  a 
whispered  "  to-morrow  "  she  left  him,  giving  one 
look  backward  as  she  did  so. 

So  there  it  was  !  Engaged  to  two  girls  at 
once.  For,  of  course,  both  would  accept,  dear 
little  things  ;  he  had  long  known  they  both  liked 
him  a  little  too  well.  Now,  which  should  he 
take  ?  They  were  both  such  nice  girls.  Edith 
was  a  queen,  and  would  grace  the  head  of  any 


1 68  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

man's  table.  Yes,  Edith  was  the  one  to  choose. 
But  then  there  was  Madge,  brilliant,  provoking 
Madge,  just  the  kind  of  girl  he  liked.  A  fellow 
never  could  get  tired  of  a  girl  like  that.  And 
besides,  it  would  hurt  Madge  more  than  Edith 
to  be  given  up,  for,  with  all  her  saucy  ways,  she 
was  a  sensitive  little  thing.  Yes,  he  would  take 
her,  and  Edith  would  have  to  go.  And  here 
Phil  drew  a  long  breath  that  was  nearly  akin  to 
a  sigh.  But  he  thought,  "  It  is  a  comfort  for  a 
fellow  to  have  his  mind  fully  made  up."  Just 
then  a  dainty  note  was  handed  him,  brought  by 
special  messenger.  He  opened  it : 

"  DEAR    BOY  :  —  After    talking    the   matter 
over,  we  have  both  decided  to  say  no.     Yours, 
"  EDITH  AND  MADGE." 

LILLIAN  S.  THROOP. 

The  Stanford  Sequoia. 

A  Fortunate  Foursome* 

WE  were  playing  in  a  mixed  foursome  that 
afternoon.  One  of  those  unscientific  and  alto 
gether  delightful  games,  where  the  mixed  means 
much  more  than  the  foursome.  By  some  chance, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROS.E  169 

for  which  the  caddy  and  a  dollar  were  responsi 
ble,  we  had  gotten  far  behind  the  other  couple, 
and  I  could  see  them  resting  under  the  trees  by 
the  last  hole  on  the  hillside,  as  we  came  to  the  tee, 

"  Now  make  a  long  drive,  a  record  breaker," 
said  Molly,  "and  we  may  win  yet." 

Those  eyes  again  !  They  would  have  spoiled 
the  form  of  an  angular  Scotchman  with  forty  years 
on  St.  Andrew's  behind  him,  and  I  was  just  out 
of  college,  and  a  lover  of  human  nature. 

"  You've  hit  the  bunker  !  "  said  Molly,  pathet 
ically,  when  I  finished,  "and  the  caddy  has 
gone ;  the  wretch  has  forgotten  all  about  us." 

"  But  not  about  my  dollar,"  thought  I,  and 
winked  at  the  daisies. 

"  Oh,  Jack  !  Oh,  Molly  !  "  came  faintly  from 
over  the  hill-top,  as  we  walked  through  the 
meadow. 

I  lied  unblushingly,  "  Rather  late  to  hear  a 
robin  sing,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  rather,"  said  Molly,  and  turned  to 
loose  a  briar  from  her  skirt. 

We  were  down  in  the  valley  by  this  time, 
with  no  living  thing  about  but  a  meditative 
cow  and  a  hidden  chorus  of  bullfrogs.  Then 
and  there  I  decided  that  the  crowning  perfec- 


CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

tion  of  human  costume  had  been  reached  in  a 
golf  dress,  and  speculated  how  long  it  would  be 
safe  to  pretend  I  did  not  know  where  the  ball 
was.  At  last  she  found  it,  half  hidden  in  the 
cup  some  hoof  had  made. 

"  Let  me  hit  it,"  I  suggested. 

"  No,  that  would  not  be  fair/'  answered 
Molly,  thoughtfully,  "but  you  may  help  me, 
if  you  will.  You  know  how ;  catch  hold  of 
the  stick,  just  as  the  golf  teacher  does  when 
he  shows  you  the  proper  swing." 

I  believe  I  groaned.  I  am  quite  sure  I  made 
some  inappropriate  remark ;  but  to  come  very 
near  to  holding  her  in  my  arms,  to  fairly  clasp 
her  hands  in  mine,  without  giving  myself  away, 
and  losing  her  for  good  and  all,  was  a  tempta 
tion  I  shuddered  to  think  of. 

It  was  not  so  bad  after  all.  Arms  over  her 
shoulder,  just  like  the  golf  teacher,  bless  him  ! 
My  hands  on  hers,  and  then  the  swing.  If  only 
she  had  kept  those  eyes  on  the  ball.  She  didn't ; 
she  was  looking  at  me !  I  wavered ;  I  looked 
at  her  !  Thunder  !  I'd  kissed  her  ! 

There  was  a  stump  close  at  hand,  and  I  sat 
down  on  it,  with  my  back  toward  her.     I  k 
that  she  had  gone  to  tell  the  others  how  sh< 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  iyi 

had  been  insulted,  and  that  I  had  abused  her 
confidence,  and  was  no  gentleman,  and  I  knew 
my  game  was  up.  I  should  have  done  some 
thing  desperate  if  there  had  been  anything 
handy,  but  just  then  I  heard  a  shy  little  cough, 
and  turned  my  head. 

Molly  was  standing  beside  me,  all  rosy  with 
confusion.  "Jack,"  she  said,  "that  isn't  the 
way  the  golf  teacher  lofts."  I  jumped  up  im 
petuously,  scarcely  daring  to  credit  my  ears. 

"  You  musn't !  "  I  had  not  done  a  thing. 
"  Go  hunt  the  ball ;  I  hear  a  robin." 

"  Hello,  Jack  !  Hello,  Molly  !  "  In  an  instant 
they  were  beside  us,  and,  "  Lost  your  ball, 
Jack?"  asked  the  man,  and,  "What  is  the 
matter  with  your  hair,  dear  ? "  said  the  girl. 

"Nothing  at  all  is  the  matter,"  said  Molly, 
just  glancing  at  me.  "Jack  has  been  showing 
me  how  to  loft,  and  I  like  his  way  much,  much 
better  than  the  teacher's.  Will  you  help  me 
more  to-morrow,  Jack  ? " 

I  believe  I  didn't  groan.  I'm  quite  sure  my 
remark  was  appropriate.  Molly  says  I  blushed, 
but  I  know  I  thought,  "  Well,  rather  !  " 

HENRY  SEIDEL  CANBY. 

Yale  Courant. 


172  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


Golf  and  a  Bracelet 

GREEN  No.  6  had  a  tree  and  a  spring  near  it, 
which  no  one  ever  thought  of  passing  by,  and 
on  this  particular  morning  a  very  pretty  Gib 
son's  "  Golf  is  a  Game  for  Two,"  could  be  seen 
there. 

"Marjorie,  have  you  read  the  account  of  the 
fall  of  Santiago,  in  the  morning  papers  ? "  asked 
Ted. 

"  No.  We  came  out  so  early  that  I  only  had 
time  to  read  the  headlines."  She  looked  at  him 
anxiously.  Her  thoughts  were  with  the  Rough 
Riders. 

Ted  read  the  account  aloud,  and  then  stuck 
the  paper  into  the  pocket  of  his  golf  coat. 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  to  war,  Ted  ?  I  surely 
thought  you  would." 

Ted  muttered  something  indefinite  about 
"business  "  —  "  stocks  "  —  " aged  father." 

"All  of  which  means  that  you  didn't  — 
exactly  —  want  to?"  with  a  saucy  look  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  as  a  Red  Cross  nurse  ? " 
Ted  asked,  evasively. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  173 

"  I  suspect  I  didn't  exactly  —  want  to.  Come, 
own  up." 

But  Ted  said  nothing. 

"Have  you  seen  my  patriotic  bracelet?" 
Mar j one  went  on,  holding  out  her  arm,  on 
which  shone  a  round  gold  band  set  with  three 
stones :  a  ruby,  a  diamond,  and  a  sapphire. 
"  My  cousin,  who  lives  out  West,  gave  it  to 
me  the  day  he  started  for  the  war.  You  never 
met,  I  think." 

"  No.     What  is  he  like  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  is  big  and  blond,  and  —  oh,  every 
thing,"  with  a  very  faint  sigh. 

"  Marjorie,  the  '  big,  blond  '  fellows  (Ted  was 
very  dark)  seem  to  be  the  only  ones  who  win 
any  favour  from  you." 

Silence. 

"Marjorie,  answer  me." 

Marjorie  was  digging  the  ground  very  hard 
with  her  putter. 

"Surely  you  must  know,"  continued  Ted, 
"must  have  seen  how  I  love  —  " 

Marjorie  laughed.  She  was  apt  to  be  irrever 
ent  on  such  occasions.  "  I  really  do  not  see  what 
you  want  an  answer  to,"  she  said.  "Ted,  you 
certainly  have  an  awkward  way  of  putting  things." 


174  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

She  jumped  up  and  ran  toward  the  next  tee. 
She  knew  she  had  been  rude  and  exasperating, 
but  she  was  not  sure  of  herself.  Should  it 
be  Ted  or  —  she  looked  at  the  bracelet.  Ted's 
chances  were  rising. 

Marjorie  teed  her  ball.  Then  she  felt  of  her 
Ascot,  pushed  up  the  cuffs  of  her  shirt-waist 
a  trifle,  and  raised  her  club  for  the  drive.  Her 
eyes  fell  on  Ted,  who,  looking  very  much  put 
out,  stood  reading  his  paper. 

"Mr.  Field,"  she  asked,  sarcastically,  "what 
do  you  find  so  extremely  interesting?  Since 
you  would  insist  on  bringing  no  caddies,  you 
might  at  least  have  the  goodness  to  notice 
where  I  drive  this  ball." 

"  Miss  Morton,  I  was  simply  wishing  that  I  was 
this  fellow,"  and  he  read,  "  '  Harry  Barnard,  son 
of  Hon.  Charles  Barnard,  of  Chicago,  was  among 
the  Rough  Riders  killed  before  Santiago.' ' 

The  sun  grew  dim  to  Marjorie.  She  raised 
her  club  and  sent  her  ball  but  a  few  feet. 

"  Try  again,  if  you  like." 

The  second  was  no  better. 

"  I  think  I  would  rather  not  play  any  more 
to-day.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  club-house," 
said  Marjorie,  gently. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  175 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Ted,  thinking  he  under 
stood  why  his  remark  had  disturbed  her,  "  I 
knew  it !  I  felt  it !  You  do  love  me,  then, 
Marjorie?" 

"Don't  jump  at  conclusions,  Ted.  I'm  going 
back  because — because"  -  the  sun  hit  on 
the  diamond ;  before  the  girl's  eyes  rose  a 
vision  of  a  wounded,  dying  Rough  Rider,  but 
with  a  little  forced  laugh  she  went  on  — 
"  because  I  feel  sure  I  shall  go  on  making 
bad  drives." 

L.  c.  G. 
Brunonian. 

University  5. 

A  LITTLE  U.  5  notice  caused  all  my  despair. 
I  had  been  indulging  in  a  somewhat  technical 
crime,  which  is  punished  severely  by  the  fac 
ulty,  and  my  meditations,  as  I  crossed  the  yard 
in  obedience  to  the  summons,  were  hardly  of  the 
happy  order.  When  I  reached  the  big  stone 
steps  of  University  I  stopped,  seeking  in  vain  for 
courage  to  go  farther,  and  stood  staring  at  the 
worn  granite  slabs.  I  thought  of  the  hundreds 
of  quaking  feet  that  had  already  ascended  those 


176  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

ancient  steps,  and  the  many  broken  ambitions 
and  hopeless  hearts  which  had  left  those  stairs 
to  carry  with  them  through  life  the  keen  stigma 
of  a  disgraceful  college  career.  A  comparison 
with  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  was  no  doubt  irrele 
vant,  but  at  that  moment  it  struck  me  with 
terrible  force. 

After  hesitating  a  few  moments,  I  ascended 
slowly  and  with  leaden  feet  the  fateful  flight, 
pushed  open  timidly  the  big,  bare,  forbidding 
door  to  the  outer  sanctum,  and  stepped  to  the 
rail  as  unobtrusively  as  possible.  Just  then  the 
dean  passed  through  the  room  and  bestowed  on 
me  one  of  his  comprehensive  "  glad  to  see  you, 
my  dear  old  friend  "  smiles,  and  my  last  gleam 
of  hope  left  me.  I  knew  those  smiles  were  not 
distributed  in  vain,  —  I  must  now  expect  expul 
sion  ;  my  hopes  for  suspension  were  scattered 
to  the  winds. 

As  the  recorder  turned  to  me,  I  mumbled 
out  a  word  of  explanation,  and  he  replied,  quickly, 
"  Oh,  yes  ;  are  you  taking  Chemistry  B  ? " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Well,  you  have  been  cutting  a  good  deal  in 
Fine  Arts  3  ?  " 

"I  am  not  taking  the  course,  sir." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  177 

"Is  that  so  ?  Well,  there  is  some  mistake 
here ;  that  is  all  I  wanted  to  know."  And  he 
turned  and  began  to  discourse  on  the  subject  in 
stentorian  tones  to  a  hole  in  the  wall,  while  I 
fairly  danced  out  of  the  room  with  resolutions 
of  reform  engraven  on  my  conscience. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Philosophy  at  Twenty-one. 

THE  dignity  of  a  Senior  became  her  well,  and 
the  little  air  of  authority  that  she  assumed  was 
very  pretty.  She  felt,  this  miss  of  twenty- 
one,  that  she  knew  herself  thoroughly,  and  that 
she  had  had  all  the  experience  of  a  lifetime 
crowded  into  three  years  or  more  of  college ; 
she  had  analysed  herself  and  her  ambitions,  had 
examined  them  under  a  microscope,  and  com 
pletely  classified  them. 

It  was  my  happy  lot,  not  long  ago,  to  sit 
beside  her  at  a  football  game,  and,  as  the  play 
progressed,  to  hear  her  comments.  "  All  this 
enthusiasm,"  she  said,  "  is  purely  false  excite 
ment  ;  there  is  no  need  for  it.  People  can  get 
just  as  much  enjoyment  out  of  the  game  without 
jumping  about  and  yelling."  Just  at  this  moment 


178  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

there  was  an  outburst  of  wilder  cheering,  and,  to 
my  astonishment,  I  saw  the  Senior  beside  me 
standing  up  on  the  seat,  waving  both  hands 
toward  the  field,  her  face  ablaze  with  excite 
ment.  The  right  end,  her  "  very  best  friend," 
had  the  ball,  and  had  run  eighty  yards  down  the 
field  for  a  touchdown. 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

In  June* 

THE  little  cabin  was  the  last  that  remained  of 
the  old  slave  quarters.  The  unhewn  logs  had 
turned  gray  with  age ;  time  and  the  weather 
had  nibbled  off  the  ends  of  the  moss-covered 
clapboards.  The  roof  had  sagged  down  in  the 
middle,  the  crazy  old  chimney  had  settled  to  one 
side,  and  the  mud  that  chinked  the  space  between 
the  logs  had  fallen  out  in  great  handfuls  ;  but  the 
monster  pecan-tree  that  towered  above,  and  the 
vines  that  covered  the  front,  imparted  a  refresh 
ing  coolness  to  the  place.  From  the  interior  of 
the  quaint  little  house  came  the  voice  of  a  woman, 
singing,  "  Clim'in'  to  Zion,"  in  a  high  key,  and 
the  monotonous  thump  !  thump  !  of  the  flatiron 
on  the  ironing  board. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  179 

Out  across  the  fields  the  heat-waves  danced 
giddily  above  the  green  cotton  plants  ;  the  songs 
of  the  hoe-hands,  borne  along  by  the  scorching 
south  wind,  sounded  indistinct  and  dreamy. 

On  the  piazza,  of  the  cabin,  half  hidden  by  the 
morning-glory  vines,  sat  a  grizzled  old  giant  of 
a  darky.  His  chair  was  tipped  back  against  the 
wall,  his  head  had  sunk  to  his  breast ;  the  old 
man  was  asleep.  In  his  arms  lay  a  tiny  little 
black  baby.  Its  head  fell  across  the  giant's  left 
arm ;  its  mouth  was  wide  open,  and  the  proces 
sion  of  flies  that  crawled  lazily  over  its  face 
paused  in  turn,  and  reconnoitred  the  mysterious 
opening.  Both  the  bare  little  feet  were  swal 
lowed  up  in  the  old  man's  great  paw. 

From  the  tower  of  the  barn  the  plantation 
bell  clanged  harshly.  The  workers  in  the  field 
set  up  a  joyous  shout ;  the  old  man  stirred  un 
easily,  then  awoke;  the  baby  began  to  cry  for 
its  mother ;  noon  had  come. 

C.  W.  CLARK. 

Brunonian. 


l8o  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


The  Clever  Miss  Vandeveer. 

"  OF  all  the  clever  girls,"  said  Percy,  breaking 
the  silence,  "  I  met  the  cleverest  last  summer. 
That  girl  has  taken  considerable  conceit  out  of 
me." 

"  How  was  that?"  asked  Jack,  rising  from 
his  reclining  position,  and  puffing  vigorously  on 
his  pipe. 

"  It  happened  this  way  :  I  was  spending  part 
of  August  at  Atlantic  City.  While  there,  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  Miss  Vandeveer, 
a  Junior  at  Wellesley.  She  was  one  of  those 
artless  girls,  who  at  the  same  time  possess 
their  share  of  tact.  I  had  taken  quite  a  fancy 
to  her,  and  we  spent  most  of  the  time  in  one 
another's  company.  It  was  a  few  days  before 
my  departure,  as  we  sat  together  at  the  end  of 
the  pier,  gazing  at  the  water  which  a  full  moon 
was  tinting.  In  front  of  the  pier,  some  feet 
below,  lay  a  large  float  which,  as  it  swayed  to 
and  fro,  suggested  to  my  mind  a  test  for  Miss 
Vandeveer' s  much-talked-of  daring. 

"'You  seem,'  I  said,  'to  be  quite  adroit  with 
your  wheel,  but  I'll  wager  a  college  flag  against 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  l8l 

a  sofa  pillow  that  you  are  afraid  to  ride  off  this 
pier  on  to  the  float.' ' 

"  Of  course  she  didn't  take  you  up,"  said  Jack, 
incredulously. 

"But  she  did,  and  now  I  wish  she  hadn't. 
*  I'm  not,'  she  said,  with  a  pert  toss  of  her  head, 
'but  you  must  let  me  name  the  hour.'  'All 
right,  suit  yourself,'  said  I,  laughingly.  '  Well, 
let  us  say  five  o'clock  to-morrow  morning.  Now 
you  be  on  hand,  and  you'll  see  whether  I'm 
afraid.' 

"  At  five  the  next  morning,  I  reluctantly  arose 
and  started  for  the  pier,  with  a  suspicion  lurking 
in  my  mind  that  she  was  joking,  and  wished  to 
see  if  it  were  possible  for  a  college  man  to  arise 
at  that  hour.  But  sure  enough,  there  she  was 
awaiting  my  arrival." 

"  And  she  didn't  hurt  herself  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  You  see  the  tide  in  the 
meantime  had  risen  so  that  the  float  was  on  a 
level  with  the  pier,  and  all  she  had  to  do  was 
to  cross  from  one  to  the  other." 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  rising  to  go,  "Miss  Vande- 
veer  beats  any  girl  I  ran  across  last  summer." 

"  MEM.   'oo." 
Hamilton  Literary  Magazine. 


1 82  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


Un  Chant  D' Amour* 

I  SUPPOSE  it  was  because  he  was  such  a  dash 
ing  young  fellow ;  his  cuffs  and  collars  were  so 
red  and  ruffled ;  his  Shetland  reared  so  gaily  at 
the  little  horse-cars  that  used  to  run  on  North 
State,  and  his  legs  were  so  much  fatter  than  his 
trousers.  Or  perhaps  it  was  because  the  Sacred 
Heart  was  a  lonely  gray  place.  At  any  rate,  I 
caught  the  kisses  he  tossed  to  my  window. 

He  climbed  into  the  convent  lawn  one  day. 
For  some  time  we  were  very  still.  Then  — 

"My  name's  A  —  An  —  Anna."  I  did  not 
usually  stutter. 

Neither  did  he,  but  —  "  Mine's  H  —  Ha  — 
Harry." 

The  conventionalities  thus  appeased,  he 
showed  me  a  wee  mud-turtle. 

"  I'll  give  you  one  if  you  come  here  again,"  he 
said.  He  experienced  a  change  of  heart.  "  No, 
I  won't." 

At  this,  I  ran  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  heard 
him  remorsefully  bawling,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  will !  " 

Mother  Mary  gave  me  a  box  a  few  days  later. 
Behold  a  turtle  of  dimensions  even  more  infini- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  183 

tesimal   than    that   of    the   one    I    saw   before ! 
There  was  also  a  compassionate  note  : 

"  You  won't  see  me  any  more.  You  can  have 
it,  anyway.  Going  home." 

"  What  clumsiness  !  "  broke  in  Mother  Supe 
rior,  sharply. 

But  in  the  light  of  past  experience  I  guess 
that  it  was  tears. 

A.  A. 
University  of  Chicago    Weekly. 

Contentment* 

THE  day  was  very  sunny  and  hot,  and  the  roads 
were  thick  with  dust ;  farmers  going  into  town 
with  their  heavy  wagons  raised  up  clouds  of  it, 
in  which  they  jogged  along  surrounded  as  with 
a  fog.  The  dust  settled  on  the  horses'  backs, 
on  the  grass  along  the  ditches  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  covered  everything  with  a  uniform  dull 
grayish  yellow,  out  of  which  only  the  black-eyed 
Susans  emerged  triumphant,  on  account  of  their 
more  dominant  orange  colour.  Along  the  road 
came  two  quaint  little  figures,  boy  and  girl,  both 
barefoot ;  she  clad  in  a  checkered  pinafore,  and 
wearing  a  sunbonnet  of  the  same  material,  of 


184  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

the  Shaker  pattern,  and  a  world  too  large  for 
her  ;  he  in  turned-up  overalls  —  presumably  the 
cast-off  property  of  his  father  —  and  a  brimless 
straw  farmer's  hat.  Both  little  faces  were 
freckled  and  burned,  and  both  surrounded  by 
little  wet  curls  of  red  hair.  The  travellers  pad 
dled  along  undaunted  by  the  almost  unbearable 
heat ;  they  squeezed  up  the  dust  between  their 
little  bare  toes,  and  stopped  often  to  pat  it  into 
mounds  of  different  shapes  and  sizes. 

I  approached  them  slowly,  reaching  them  just 
as  they  stopped  to  exclaim  over  the  beauty  of  a 
butterfly,  swaying  on  a  wild-turnip  stock  ;  they 
were  so  manifestly  content  and  happy  in  their 
lot,  that  I,  who  had  been  anathematising  the 
day,  the  heat,  and  the  necessary  journey  I  was 
making,  felt  a  sense  of  jealousy.  After  I  had 
passed  them,  I  turned  in  the  carriage  and  looked 
back ;  but  the  inevitable  dust  had  swallowed 
them  up. 

H.  T.  P. 
Wells  College  Chronicle. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  185 


My  Old  Room. 

I  HAD  come  back  to  Cambridge  to  try  for  an 
A.  M.,  for  I  knew  it  would  please  the  "  Gov 
ernor,"  and  I  was  not  averse  to  another  eight 
months'  leisure  in  the  place  I  liked  to  call  home. 
But  there  was  one  drawback  to  my  fifth  year  here, 
and  that  was  the  fact  that  I  had  given  up  my 
room  in  the  Yard,  and,  coming  back  unexpect 
edly,  was  forced  to  put  up  with  a  severely  plain 
suite  in  a  frame  house  on  Holyoke  Street.  I 
often  compared  this  new  apartment,  with  its 
dingy  outlook  on  the  church  and  its  many  funerals, 
to  my  old  abode,  with  the  sun  pouring  into  the 
windows,  casting  two  bright  spots  on  the  yellow 
carpet,  darkened  by  the  unsteady  shadows  of 
the  waving  elms  without.  How  uninviting  was 
this  ugly,  smoky  stove  compared  to  that  little 
old-fashioned  grate,  and  how  cheerless  these 
new-fangled  windows  with  the  big  panes  were, 
in  comparison  with  those  sixteen  little  squares 
of  glass  in  each  of  my  old  windows  !  With  every 
thing  else  in  the  room  it  was  the  same.  I  was 
not  satisfied,  and  began  to  grow  restless  and 
look  forward  to  any  chance  that  would  give  me 


1 86  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

an  excuse  to  get  out  of  my  room,  if  for  only  a 
night.  And  then,  too,  I  missed  the  fellows,  — 
"the  gang,"  —  for  I  tell  you  it  made  me  fairly 
homesick  to  go  into  Jake's,  and  know  that  none 
of  our  crowd  would  be  there,  or  at  the  Adams 
House  after  the  theatre.  Then  to  go  into 
Leavitt's,  to  see  all  younger  fellows,  and  not  be 
able  to  join  in  their  conversations  with  the  same 
sympathy  that  exists  between  classmates,  made 
me  lonesome. 

So  you  see  I  was  an  unhappy  sort  of  a  post 
grad.,  and  my  work  in  philosophy  made  me  more 
and  more  so.  It  must  have  been  some  time  in 
December  that  I  was  walking  through  the  Yard, 
deep  in  thoughts  of  the  coming  vacation,  and  of 
how  I  was  going  to  spend  it.  I  was  so  wrapt 
up  in  myself  that  I  paid  no  attention  to  what  I 
was  doing,  but,  on  coming  to  my  old  hall,  turned 
in  and  stumped  up  the  two  short  flights  of  stairs, 
and  let  myself  in  with  my  old  key,  a  memento 
of  four  happy  years,  which  I  had  a  sneaking 
desire  to  keep.  As  soon  as  I  stepped  inside,  I 
came  to  my  senses.  There,  in  the  window-seat, 
just  as  I  had  often  lolled,  lay  one  of  the  new 
Freshman  occupants,  with  his  feet  high  up  on 
the  window-casing,  and  his  lips  blowing  delicate 


CAP    AND  GOWN    IN    PROSE  187 

smoke-rings  at  the  curtain-tassel.  In  the  corner 
was  his  "wife,"  sitting  in  his  shirt-sleeves  at  the 
desk,  scratching  away  at  Freshman  English,  or 
some  other  equally  precious  stuff.  They  both 
looked  at  me  with  surprise  and  some  misgivings, 
and  I  felt  that  an  explanation  was  due  them  for 
my  unceremonious  entrance. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  began  ;  "you  see, 
I  used  to  have  this  room  —  last  year  —  and  I 
thought  you  fellows  might  want  this  key,"  and, 
as  I  felt  the  weakness  of  my  remark,  I  threw 
down  the  little  piece  of  metal  that  was  the  last 
reminder  I  had  of  my  old  room,  and  turning 
abruptly,  I  whistled  my  way  down-stairs,  just 
to  fool  myself  into  believing  that  I  didn't 
care. 

H.  M.  ADAMS. 
Harvard  Advocate. 

Two  Dear  Old  Ladies* 

"  SHE'S  dead  !  " 
"No?" 

"  Yes,   dead  a  week  ago,  and  they  say  she 
suffered  horribly." 
"  No  ? " 


1 88  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Yes,  and  do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  What  ? " 

"  Why,  he's  married  again  !  " 

"  No  ? " 

"Yes,  and  he  was  sick  in  bed  at  the  time, 
too  ! " 

"  No  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  she,  the  new  one,  came  all  the  way 
from  New  York  ? " 

"  No  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  they  say  she's  rich  as  Crokus  !  " 

"No?" 

"  Yes,  and  when  she  got  here,  poor  Viny 
could  hardly  have  been  cold  in  her  grave !  " 

"No?" 

"  Yes,  and  do  you  believe !  he  —  and  I  don't 
care  if  he  is  my  minister,  and  if  he  does  preach 
beautiful  —  he  had  her  come  straight  to  his 
house !  " 

"  No  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  he  had  two  ministers,  one  on  each 
side  of  his  bed,  to  marry  him,  sick  as  he  was,  and 
Viny,  dead  as  she  was,  and  this  New  Yorker,  rich 
as  she  was,  had  'em  marry  him  then  and  there  !  " 

"No?" 

"  Yes,  and  when  they  came  to  the  place  where 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  189 

they  asked  her  if  she'd  take  him  for  better  or 
for  worse,  she  said  the  doctor  said  he  was  better, 
and  the  minister  needn't  try  to  scare  her  out  of 
havin'  him  !  " 

"  No  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  he  laughed  outright,  sick  as  he 
was,  and  dead  as  Viny  was,  and  it  seems  to  me 
the  most  scandalous  thing  !  " 

"  Mercy  !  he  laughed  ?  " 

"  Yes !  " 

"  And  you  say  Viny's  dead  ? " 

"Yes!" 

"  And  that  he's  married  again  ? " 

-Yes!" 

"  And  that  all  this  happened  before  Viny  was 
buried  ? " 

"  Yes !  " 

"  And  that  this  new  one  is  rich  ? " 

"Yes!" 

"  And  that  her  name  is  Crokus  ?  " 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  And  that  two  ministers  married  him,  one  on 
each  side  of  his  bed  ?  " 

"Yes!" 

"  And  that  when  they  told  him  Viny  was 
dead  he  laughed  outright  ? " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"Yes!" 

And  sent  to  New  York  for  this  Miss  Crokus 
before  Viny  was  cold  ? " 

"Yes!" 

"  And  Miss  Crokus,  that  was,  will  be  president 
o'  the  sewin'  circle  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  " 

"  Good  Lord  !  " 

"  Good  morninV 

"  Good  mornin'." 

CHARLES  OTIS  JUDKINS. 

Wesley  an  Literary  Monthly. 

A  Sentinel  and  a  Substitute. 

THE  sentinel  had  not  moved  a  muscle,  but  he 
had  heard  a  sound  in  the  bushes  back  of  him, 
and  he  realised  what  that  sound  meant.  A  man 
whose  movements  were  thus  concealed  could 
only  be  an  enemy.  Still  the  sentinel  leaned  on 
the  muzzle  of  his  gun  ;  still  he  seemed  absorbed 
in  the  deepest  contemplation  of  the  sleeping 
camp  of  the  enemy.  The  crickets  chirped 
their  symphony  of  summer  all  around  as  gaily 
as  before,  but  a  cicada  that  had  been  making 
the  air  resonant  with  its  strumming  on  a  large 


CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

bush  in  the  rear  had  suddenly  stopped.  The 
sentinel's  mind  was  busy  ;  his  ears  were 
strained  to  bursting  ;  every  nerve  seemed  tense ; 
his  head  throbbed  and  great  waves  of  sound 
battered  on  his  skull.  A  thousand  plans  of  de 
fence  rushed  before  him.  Still  he  had  not 
stirred  an  inch. 

Then  when  his  whole  being  seemed  to  shriek 
with  the  agony  of  suspense,  he  heard  a  click, 
leaped  suddenly  to  one  side,  there  was  a  sharp 
flash  and  report,  and  he  sprang  unharmed  into 
the  bush.  Sounds  of  agony  followed,  and  the 
short,  desperate  pant  that  spoke  of  deadly  com 
bat  as  the  men  forced  one  another  back  and 
forth,  then  a  dull  thud  as  the  fall  of  a  body  was 
slightly  stayed  by  its  impact  with  the  bushes, 
and  the  sentinel,  too,  sank  fainting  to  the  ground, 
his  life  blood  slowly  ebbing  from  a  great  gash  in 
his  side. 

When  he  regained  consciousness  it  seemed  as 
if  hours  had  passed.  He  had  done  so  much  in  a 
minute.  He  had  been  home,  he  remembered 
how  he  had  said  good-bye  to  his  mother,  how  — 
Then  he  gazed  at  the  wound,  and  he  remembered 
something  else,  his  duty. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

He  was  growing  constantly  weaker,  the  flow 
of  blood  had  stopped  slightly,  but  he  knew  that 
the  end  was  not  far.  He  looked  a  moment  at 
the  bushes,  then  he  crawled  toward  the  largest, 
leaving  a  ghastly  trail  of  red  behind.  No  time 
could  be  spared.  He  drew  a  knife  from  his 
pocket  and  cut  off  a  stout  branch  about  five 
feet  in  height,  crotched  at  the  top.  Then 
he  crawled  back  to  the  open  space.  His  gun 
lay  on  the  ground  where  it  had  fallen.  He 
sharpened  the  large  end  of  the  sapling  and 
drove  it  into  the  ground  with  all  his  remain 
ing  strength.  Then  he  stopped,  his  little  stock 
of  energy  spent.  But  he  dared  not  delay,  — 
too  much  remained  to  be  done  in  the  short  time 
alloted  him. 

He  forced  his  trembling  hands  to  place  the 
gun  securely  against  the  notch  in  the  support 
ing  branch  ;  then  painfully  he  rose  to  his  knees, 
dragged  off  his  army  cloak,  carefully  draped  it 
over  this  support,  thrust  his  hat  over  the  top, 
drew  the  crimson  scarf  from  his  neck  and  wound 
it  just  below ;  with  stiffening  fingers  buttoned 
the  cloak  slowly  from  the  top,  reached  the  last 
button,  gave  a  great  gasp,  half  relief,  half  agony, 
and  sank  back  —  dead.  But  an  immovable  sen- 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  193 

tinel,  that  appeared  to  guard  a  restful  camp,  still 
stood  on  the  mountain  top. 

OSCAR  LOEB. 
The  Red  and  Blue. 

A  Class  Day  Convert* 

I  LIVED  next  door  to  Jason  a  whole  year 
before  I  knew  him.  It  seemed  that  I  never 
saw  the  man  before  one  night  when  I  ran  into 
him  in  the  hallway,  thus  calling  forth  apologies 
on  both  sides,  an  invitation  to  his  room,  and 
talk.  He  had  often  seen  me  before,  he  told  me, 
but  had  been  restrained  from  speaking  by  bash- 
fulness. 

After  this  I  often  dropped  in  on  him.  He 
was  always  in  his  room,  studying  or  digging  at 
a  yellow  piano.  Music  was  his  one  amusement. 
He  would  sit  for  hours  merely  making  combi 
nations  of  the  different  chords,  never  speaking 
to  me,  but  bent  over  the  keyboard  in  nervous 
preoccupation.  He  was  a  good  scholar,  received 
excellent  marks,  and  had  read  many  books, 
about  which  he  talked  intelligently.  All  in 
all,  he  was  a  pretty  good  sort  of  fellow. 

Jason  and  I  agreed  in  almost  everything.    On 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

one  point,  however,  we  fought.  The  Univer 
sity,  he  claimed,  was  not  run  in  the  right  way. 
A  man  here  did  not  get  a  just  show  unless  he 
came  in  with  a  crowd  of  men  from  one  of  the 
preparatory  schools  that  annually  furnish  Har 
vard's  athletes,  musical,  literary,  and  social 
satellites.  The  whole  place  was  run  by  a 
Boston  clique,  the  professors,  the  president, 
the  governors,  everybody  and  everything.  No 
wonder  (he  would  shout  now)  there  was  no 
spirit  to  the  place.  Personally,  he  had  none ; 
never  would  have.  He  looked  on  the  institu 
tion  merely  as  a  necessity  for  giving  his  mind 
an  education  and  nothing  more,  just  as  water 
and  soap  were  necessary  for  cleanliness. 

On  the  other  side,  I  would  argue  until  I  was 
gasping  for  breath  and  ready  to  choke  him.  It 
would  end  by  my  getting  up  and  leaving,  with 
a  bang  to  the  door,  and  with  Jason's  satirical, 
smiling  countenance  turned  on  me  like  an  item 
of  a  nightmare.  Then  I  would  hear  him  playing 
chords  on  the  yellow  piano,  and  I  would  swear. 

Class  day  came  around,  and  I  was  so  occupied 
with  spreads,  mammas,  and  pretty  girls,  that  I 
could  think  of  almost  nothing  else.  When 
evening  came,  and  the  festivities,  with  the 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  195 

paper  lamps  in  the  yard,  died  a  flickering 
death,  I  went  to  my  room  utterly  exhausted, 
and  threw  myself  heavily  on  the  divan.  I 
heard  a  noise  in  the  next  room,  and  thought 
for  the  first  time  of  Jason.  What  could  he  have 
done  with  himself  all  day  ?  He  had  no  club  to 
go  to,  no  relatives  that  I  knew  of  to  bother 
him  ;  nothing  of  any  kind,  outside  of  the  regular 
college  exercises,  to  interest  him.  Wondering 
thus,  the  sound  of  the  piano  reached  me.  Jason 
was  playing.  I  knew  his  touch,  and  sat  up  to 
hear  more  distinctly.  The  tune  was  "Fair 
Harvard."  I  rose  and  went  to  his  room.  As 
I  opened  the  door,  there  was  a  crash  of  conflict 
ing  notes.  Leaning  on  the  keyboard  was  Jason, 
his  body  shaking  with  sobs. 

C.  H.  L.  JOHNSTON. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

A  Corn-cob  Pipe* 

HALF  a  dozen  of  us  were  sitting  around  the 
other  night,  talking  over  the  various  happenings 
of  the  week  and  pulling  vigorously  at  half  a 
dozen  pipes. 

Soon  another  man  dropped  in,  and  the  host 


196  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

got  up  to  take  a  pipe  from  the  string  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  that  were  stretched  along  the  wall 
between  a  couple  of  tennis-rackets. 

"  No  meerschaum  for  me,  Charlie,"  said  the 
newcomer.  "  I'm  common.  Give  me  that 
*  corn-cob '  in  the  middle  with  the  ribbon  on 
it.  Cardinal  ribbon,  too.  I'll  be  patriotic." 

"That  pipe?"  Charlie  exclaimed.  "Not  by 
a  jug  full ;  not  that  one." 

We  all  shouted. 

"  Sacred  ?  "  said  I.     "  Girl  ?  tell  us  about  it." 

"Well,  it  is  sacred,  and  is  about  a  girl,  and 
I'll  tell  you  if  you  will  promise  not  to  'josh' 
me."  We  promised. 

"  It  happened  up  in  Wyoming.  My  father 
has  a  ranch  up  there,  fifty  miles  north  of  Raw- 
lins.  He  goes  out  occasionally  to  look  it  over, 
so  took  me  along  last  time. 

"  The  tenant  is  an  old  Spaniard  who  manages 
things.  His  daughter  keeps  house  for  him. 
This  story  is  about  the  daughter.  She  was  a 
beauty,  with  dark,  lustrous,  dreamy  eyes  and 
shiny,  jet-black  hair." 

"'S  death,"  undertoned  somebody. 

"That's  all  right,  fellows,  it  was  just  as  I  tell 
it.  Well,  of  course  I  fell  in  love  with  her  in  no 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  197 

time,  and  when  father  started  out  for  a  couple 
of  weeks'  inspection  over  the  range,  I  told  him 
I  was  afraid  to  go  up  any  higher,  but  thought  it 
would  be  better  for  my  lungs  if  I  stayed  at  the 
ranch-house.  I  look  like  a  consumptive,  don't  I, 
in  the  last  stages  ?  Whether  the  governor  sus 
pected  anything  or  not,  I  can't  say,  but  he  told 
me  to  suit  myself,  and  —  I  stayed. 

"  That  was  a  great  two  weeks.  The  girl  was 
a  wonder.  She  taught  me  to  ride ;  she  taught 
me  to  throw  a  rope ;  she  taught  me  to  shoot  a 
rifle, — that  is,  to  hit  something,  I  mean, — and 
I  taught  her  —  to  smoke.  You  may  think  me 
wicked,  but  she  wanted  to  try  it  —  Spanish 
blood,  you  know  —  and  those  eyes  brought  me 
around  in  no  time.  She  would  not  smoke  my 
meerschaum,  so  I  fished  that  « corn-cob '  out  of 
my  things  and  gave  it  to  her.  The  ribbon  is 
from  her  hair. 

K  She  soon  became  accomplished,  and  I  — 
Well,  we  rode  the  range  together  and  I  managed 
to  keep  at  her  side ;  and  when  we  stalked  an 
antelope  he  usually  had  two  bullets  in  him 
when  he  fell. 

"  I  believe  she  found  me  interesting,  though  I 
didn't  try  to  impress  her  with  college  ways.  It 


198  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

was  probably  new  to  her  to  have  a  college  man 
following  her  closely  wherever  she  went. 

"  And  so  the  days  slipped  by,  I,  « lost  in  the 
light  of  her  wonderful  eyes,'  and  she,  a  jolly 
companion  and  guide,  friendly,  and  no  more. 

"Then  the  governor  came  back  from  the 
hills  and  we  got  ready  to  leave.  I  made 
the  most  of  my  time  then,  I  tell  you,  and  she 
seemed  a  little  disturbed  at  the  thought  of  my 
going. 

"On  the  day  we  left  I  asked  her  for  the 
corn-cob  pipe.  '  Then  let  me  have  the  yellow 
one  to  keep,'  she  said.  She  took  it  carefully 
and  looked  at  the  delicate  carving.  '  It's  pretty,' 
she  remarked  at  last,  '  but  I  rather  think  I  like 
the  corn-cob  best.' 

"That's  why   the  '  corn-cob '    hangs    in    the 
middle  there,  fellows,  and   no    one    smokes    it 
but  myself.     When   I   look  at  it,  it   takes  me 
back  to  the  ranch-house  in  the  mountains  and  a 
pair  of  black  eyes  beneath  a  big  sombrero." 
F.  M.  VAN  HORN. 
The  Wisconsin 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  199 


The  Chronicle  of  the  Exam, 

Now  in  those  days  a  course  was  given,  and 
all  the  people  came  to  take  the  course,  for  it 
was  a  snap. 

Some  of  them  were  wise  and  some  were 
foolish. 

They  that  were  foolish  took  the  course,  but 
took  no  notes  of  it.  And  while  the  quarter 
tarried  they  all  whispered  and  slept. 

But  the  wise  took  notes  and  hearkened  unto 
the  Prof. 

Then  at  last  there  was  a  great  cry  made. 
Behold,  the  Exam  cometh. 

Then  all  the  people  arose  and  began  to  cram 
their  notes. 

And  the  foolish  said  unto  the  wise :  Lend  us 
of  your  notes,  for  ours  are  lost.  But  the  wise 
answered  :  We  know  it  is  not  so. 

Then  great  fear  arose  in  the  hearts  of  the 
foolish,  and  they  got  themselves  together  with 
a  great  cry,  saying :  Woe,  woe,  to  us,  lest  we 
flunk  and  be  a  sport  of  the  campus. 

Then  arose  one  who  was  foxier  than  all  the 
rest,  and  said  in  a  loud  voice  :  Go  to,  oh,  ye  fear- 


2OO  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

f  ul !  I,  even  I,  will  save  you,  and  we  shall  still  be 
the  people.  We  will  give  a  great  feast,  and  lo, 
no  man  shall  come  save  the  Professor.  And 
him  we  will  make  drunk  with  frappe  and  with 
feasting.  And  on  the  evening  when  the  Exams 
come  his  heart  will  be  full  of  thanks  to  us,  and 
none  shall  flunk.  Selah. 

And  it  was  so  even  as  it  was  said. 

E.  H.  B. 
University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

The  Augury  of  the  Birds. 

IT  was  the  day  before  the  Country  Club  held 
its  gun  shoot.  Forker  and  Miss  Laurence  were 
shooting  for  practice,  —  at  least  Miss  Laurence 
was.  Forker  was  shooting  because  she  was. 

"That  was  my  last  shot,"  she  said,  regret 
fully,  as  she  threw  away  the  shell  and  blew  the 
smoke  out  of  the  gun-barrel. 

"  But  your  bag  is  nearly  full  of  shells ! "  he 
protested. 

She  took  out  one,  cut  it  open,  and  showed  it 
to  him. 

"  You  see  there  are  four  wads,  but  no  shot  in 
these  shells." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  2OI 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"It  was  an  idea  of  father's,"  she  explained; 
"  he  was  afraid  I  would  shoot  somebody  while  I 
was  learning,  so  he  contrived  these  shells,  and 
put  in  the  four  wads  so  they  would  kick  as 
much  as  if  they  contained  shot." 

"  Very  ingenious ! "  he  said,  admiringly. 
"  Won't  you  try  some  of  mine  ? " 

"  My  shoulder  is  beginning  to  get  sore,"  she 
pleaded ;  "  besides,  I  would  rather  watch  you 
shoot." 

He  acknowledged  the  compliment  by  bring 
ing  down  the  next  six  birds  handsomely. 

"  It  is  rather  awkward  for  you  to  mark  score, 
and  load,  too  ;  won't  you  let  me  load  for  you  ? " 
she  requested. 

He  handed  over  his  gun  and  cartridge-belt. 
She  loaded  deftly,  and  he  always  found  his  gun 
ready  when  he  turned  around  after  marking  the 
scores. 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  ' Auguries  of  the 
Birds  ? '  "  she  inquired,  as  she  blew  the  smoke 
out  of  the  gun. 

"  Auguries  ?  "  he  echoed. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  never  heard  of 
auguries?"  she  asked.  "Romulus  and  Remus 


2O2  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

consulted  them  about  founding  Rome,  you 
know.  Besides,  it  is  the  only  sure  way  to 
find  out  when  you  are  going  to  marry." 

"  But  I  don't  need  any  « auguries '  to  tell  me 
whom  I  want  to  marry,"  he  protested. 

"  One  doesn't  always  marry  the  person  one 
wants  to,"  she  remarked,  provokingly. 

He  hesitated. 

"  It  is  very  simple,"  she  urged ;  "  I  name  a 
girl  and  you  shoot  at  a  pigeon.  If  you  kill  the 
pigeon  the  girl  is  to  be  your  wife." 

"  Suppose  I  miss  them  all  ?  " 

"  Then  you  will  be  a  bachelor." 

He  agreed  to  try  it. 

"The  first  will  be  Annie  Lawton ! "  she 
announced. 

He  groaned. 

The  pigeon  flew  away  unscathed. 

"  Next  is  Fanny  Ames  !  " 

"She  squints,"  he  objected;  "  besides  - 

Another  pigeon  flew  across  the  fields. 

"  This  is  Laura  Falkney ;  now  be  care 
ful !"  she  admonished,  as  she  handed  him  the 
gun. 

"But,"  he  protested,  "that  was  before  I 
met  —  " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  203 

He  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  the  third  pigeon 
flew  off. 

"This  is  the  last  pigeon,  Mr.  Forker !  "  the 
boy  called  out,  as  he  put  it  in  the  trap. 

"  Can't  this  one  be  you  ?  "  he  requested. 

"I  would  rather  not,"  she  said,  demurely, 
dropping  her  eyes. 

"  But  you  proposed  it !  "  he  urged,  reproach 
fully. 

"  Oh !  very  well,  then,  since  it  was  my  idea," 
she  said,  blushing  as  she  loaded  the  gun. 

The  pigeon  arose  from  the  trap.  He  shot. 
The  dog  brought  the  pigeon  and  laid  it  at 
Forker 's  feet. 

It  was  on  their  wedding  trip  that  he  told  her 
that  he  deliberately  missed  all  but  the  last  bird. 

"  Do  you  remember  my  shells  ? "  she  asked. 

"With  the  four  wads  and  no  shot?"  he 
inquired,  laughingly. 

"And  do  you  also  remember  that  I  loaded 
your  gun  ? " 

He  nodded. 

"  Well,  Jack,  the  last  shell  was  the  only  one 
that  contained  shot." 

THOMAS  WATSON. 

Yale  Courant. 


2O4  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


In  the  Car. 

SHE  had  just  hurt  her  ankle  playing  basket 
ball,  and  waited  impatiently  for  a  car.  As  she 
climbed  aboard,  she  saw  that  not  a  seat  was  un 
occupied.  Several  men  were  standing  in  the 
aisle,  and  two  still  had  seats.  One  of  these  was 
manifestly  intoxicated,  and  she  pulled  her  dress 
aside  with  an  expression  of  intense  disgust.  But 
the  hurt  ankle  throbbed  cruelly,  and  she  turned 
in  despair  to  the  other  man.  He  was  an  elderly 
gentleman  of  beneficent  expression,  and  she 
steadied  herself  to  ask,  timidly : 

"  Might  I  have  your  seat,  please  ?  My 
ankle  —  " 

He  looked  up  from  his  paper  a  moment,  then 
turned  back  with  a  gruff  "  No."  She  flushed 
angrily,  and  stepped  forward.  But  the  other 
male  passenger  had  taken  in  the  scene,  and  ris 
ing  unsteadily,  offered  her  his  seat  with  a  heavy 
bow.  Then  lurching  forward  on  a  strap,  and 
emphasising  his  remarks  with  the  heavy  gravity 
given  only  to  great  sages  and  those  who  have 
imbibed  too  freely,  he  addressed  the  gentleman 
with  the  paper  : 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  205 

"  See  'ere,"  he  said,  wagging  heavily  his  index 
finger,  "  I'm  drunk,  but  I'll  get  over  it.  You're 
a  hog.  Never  get  over  it." 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

As  It  Was  in  the  Beginning* 

GRAHAM  strolled  leisurely  into  his  eight  o'clock 
synchronously  with  the  quarter-after  strokes  of 
the  bell  in  the  tower,  unmindful  of  the  reprov 
ing  and  somewhat  threatening  pause  in  the 
voice  of  the  long-suffering  instructor ;  or  of 
the  mild  stare  of  the  students  more  prompt 
in  attendance,  who  knew  the  signs,  and  scented 
trouble  in  the  air  ;  or  of  the  fellows  whose 
quick  smile  of  welcome  greeted  him  here,  as 
everywhere. 

He  was  idolised  as  only  a  man  can  be  who 
has  won  and  kept  a  high  place  for  his  college 
in  the  intercollegiate  ;  and  to  whom  the  glory 
of  many  a  crew  victory  is  willingly  accorded. 
The  fellows  on  the  seat  in  the  extreme  rear  of 
the  room,  sufficiently  removed  from  the  platform 
to  be  undisturbed  by  the  fund  of  information 
emanating  therefrom,  laid  aside  their  newspapers 
and  novels,  even  the  books  whose  lessons  for  the 


2O6  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

next  hour  they  were  eagerly  conning,  and  made 
room  for  Graham. 

The  instructor,  exasperated  by  Graham's  fre 
quent  non-appearance  many  mornings  back  ;  not 
recognising  in  the  big  fellow's  deliberate  move 
ments  his  cherished  and  laudable  ambition  to 
move  with  dignity  like  Herr  Professor,  whom 
the  fellows  secretly  dubbed  "  Zeus  ; "  and  for 
getting,  in  the  short  eight  minutes  he  had  been 
at  his  post,  the  long,  hot  walk  up  the  hill,  gazed 
fixedly,  almost  sneer ingly,  at  the  unconscious 
Graham,  as  the  latter  hurriedly  whispered  some 
final  directions  to  the  fellow  next  him  about 
the  game  that  afternoon. 

The  pause  began  to  impress  the  newcomer, 
for  he  flushed,  broke  off,  and  then  looked  un 
flinchingly  at  his  instructor,  waiting  results. 
Mr.  Demetson  wavered  an  instant  under  that 
cool,  respectful  glance.  Personally  he  liked 
Graham  —  dependent  though  he  was  upon  the 
tender  mercies  of  "the  powers  that  be"  for 
enough  hours  to  graduate  in  the  spring.  But 
this  tardiness  must  be  stopped,  and  he  was  the 
man  to  stop  it.  The  unobtrusive  entrance  of  a 
girl  at  that  instant,  who  came  regularly  at  8  :  20, 
in  spite  of,  perhaps  because  of,  many  a  would-be 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  2O/ 

persuasive  tete-a-tete  with  her  handsome  young 
instructor  after  hours,  decided  him. 

"Mr.  Graham,"  he  said,  with  appalling  dis 
tinctness,  "  the  next  time  you  come  to  class  at 
this  hour,  you  needn't  come." 

Some  girls  tittered.  Graham  bit  his  lip ;  but 
work  at  Percy  had  not  spoiled  him,  so  his  "  Not 
prepared,"  in  response  to  an  unreasonable  re 
quest  to  "  continue  the  translation  "  immediately 
after,  was  somewhat  awestruck  and  humbled. 

Realising  that  he  was  free  from  responsibility 
for  that  morning,  he  gave  loose  rein  to  his 
thoughts,  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  hour 
remained  oblivious  to  all  desultory  claims  upon 
his  attention. 

He  thought  of  the  old  farm,  with  its  nerve- 
destroying  monotony,  from  which  he  had  broken 
away  under  protest.  He  recalled  his  father, 
bent  with  age,  who  had  refused  to  aid  his  son  in 
"getting  an  education."  His  mind  reverted  to 
his  entrance  into  Ithaca  life,  —  the  queer  little 
hair  trunk,  the  first  dreary,  lonesome  night  at 
the  Ithaca  Hotel, — later  his  puzzled  surprise 
at  the  popularity  which  greeted  his  big  frame ; 
his  own  athletic  renown  —  and  he  gazed  proudly 
down  on  the  winged  foot  on  his  sweater ;  then 


2O8  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

thoughts  of  the  coming  graduation  filled  him 
with  delight,  and  also  uncertainty.  Fervently 
he  hoped  his  name  would  have  an  "O.K."  after 
it !  when  the  clock  sounded  the  hour,  and  there 
was  a  general  shuffle  of  departing  feet. 

A  hand  upon  his  shoulder  roused  him. 
"  Graham,"  said  his  instructor,  kindly,  "  a  little 
more  diligence  is  worth  the  price  of  an  extra 
medal  or  two,  my  boy  !  " 

With  a  smile,  Graham  grasped  the  extended 
hand.  "I've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  if  the 
end  isn't  too  near  ?  "  he  stopped  ;  but  the  in 
structor  gave  him  an  encouraging  grin,  as  he 
said,  "Go  in  and  win." 

On  Class  day,  Graham  answered  to  his  name 
at  roll-call,  more  or  less  to  the  surprise  of  some 
members  of  good  old  '98.  Still,  such  things 
have  happened  from  time  immemorial. 

w. 
Cornell  Magazine. 

A  Cambridge  Episode* 

WHEN  the  North  Avenue  car  had  jolted  into 
the  Square,  four  men,  apparently  college  fel 
lows,  filed  in.  Tall  and  broad-shouldered  as 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  2OQ 

football  players,  they  moved  with  the  precision 
which  our  tandem  interference  strives  for  and 
the  slowness  to  which  it  attains.  Looking  up 
and  down  the  almost  empty  car,  the  leader 
seemed  to  be  choosing  a  seat  with  unnecessary 
care.  Finally  he  sat  down  and  his  three  com 
panions  close  by  him.  As  they  sat  there  in  a 
row  of  four,  these  fellows  had  nothing  unusual 
about  them.  They  were,  however,  a  bit  too 
serious  for  students ;  and  their  long  faces 
seemed  to  impress  a  young  lady  in  a  black 
dress  who,  as  it  happened,  sat  opposite.  But 
although  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  this  young 
lady  watched  them  with  the  interest  which  girls 
appear  not  to  take  in  the  opposite  sex,  they  paid 
no  attention  at  all  to  her. 

When  the  car  had  gone  a  few  blocks  beyond 
Porter's  Station,  the  young  lady  in  black  sig 
nalled  the  conductor  to  stop  ;  then  picking  up 
a  roll  of  music,  she  got  out  by  the  rear  plat 
form.  Before  she  had  reached  the  curbing, 
some  one  else  had  left  the  car  and  was  walking 
rapidly  behind  her.  This  person  soon  overtook 
her  and  said,  "  Dear  madam,  may  I  carry  your 
music  ?  "  Turning  her  head  instinctively,  she 
saw  that  it  was  one  of  the  four  men  who  had 


2IO  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

sat  opposite  her.  She  looked  at  him  rather 
sharply,  and  crossed  to  the  edge  of  the  side 
walk.  She  could  not  escape,  however,  for  the 
stranger  persisted,  "  Why  do  you  not  answer 
me  ? " 

Realising  that  it  was  no  use  to  pretend  not 
to  have  heard,  she  said,  with  a  certain  degree  of 
dignity,  "You  have  no  right  to  speak  to  me. 
Leave  me  at  once.  You  do  not  even  pretend 
to  know  me." 

"Ah,  madam,"  said  he,  "  but  I  should  like 
to  know  you." 

"  Leave  me,"  she  cried,  "  or  I  will  call  —  " 

Just  at  that  moment  she  noticed  that  two 
ladies  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  were 
watching  her  rather  intently.  Turning,  she 
said  sweetly  to  her  admirer,  "  Yes,  you  may 
walk  home  with  me  if  it  isn't  too  much 
trouble." 

As  they  walked  up  a  side  street  she  said, 
half  to  herself,  "  I  didn't  want  those  ladies  to 
see  that  a  stranger  dared  speak  to  me.  I  know 
them.  Now  they  will  think  it  was  an  acquaint 
ance.  I  didn't  want  them  to  tell  mean  stories 
to  all  my  friends." 

"I   thank  those  ladies,  then,"  said  her   com- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  211 

panion,  "for  the  sweetest  moments  of  my  life." 
He  waited  an  instant  for  a  reply,  which  was  not 
granted  him  ;  then  he  went  on,  "  The  pleasure 
of  being  in  your  presence,  of  looking  at  your 
face  —  I  know  I  am  rude.  I  can't  help  it.  You 
have  fascinated  me  so." 

By  this  time  they  had  stopped  before  a  red 
brick  house  set  in  a  narrow  lawn.  The  girl 
lifted  the  latch  of  the  gate ;  but  he  held  it 
closed.  "  Won't  you  give  me  a  kiss  ?  "  he  said. 
-Then  I'll  steal  it!" 

The  girl  was  too  quick  for  him.  Darting 
from  his  arms,  she  ran  across  the  lawn  and  up 
the  steps  of  the  house.  Pale  with  anger,  she 
turned  as  if  to  speak.  Then  she  opened  the 
door  and  banged  it  after  her. 

The  disappointed  man  stood  looking  toward 
the  house.  Then  crossing  the  street,  he  met  the 
three  men  who  had  been  with  him  in  the  car, 
and  who  must  have  left  it  at  about  the  same 
time. 

"  You  saw,"  he  said  to  the  foremost  of  them, 
"that  I  tried  to  kiss  her." 

The  leader  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Members  of  the  honourable  Fraternity  of 
A.  Z.,"  he  said,  "you  see  how  woefully  the  neo- 


212      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

phyte  has  failed  in  his  duty.     Bear  this  in  mind 
against  the  day  of  judgment." 

J.   LEONARD. 
Harvard  Advocate. 


Scene:  Dinner  at  one  of  the  Women's 
Halls. 

[Characters :  Immimes  to  Nervous  Prostration.] 

CHATTER  —  chatter  —  buz-buz  —  chatter. 

"  A  man  told  me  the  other  day  that  he  knew 
why  girls  were  so  glad  there  was  a  war.  When 
I  asked  —  " 

"  Pshaw,  we  aren't,  and  his  reason  couldn't 
have  been  any  good.  But  what  I  was  wonder 
ing  was  whether  Harschberger  really  makes  his 
crackest  shirt-waists  on  the  bias.  You  see  —  " 

"  Have  a  pickle  ?  Remember  how  the  French 
man  said  'the  Lord  pickle  you'  because  he 
didn't  know  the  difference  between  pickles 
and  preserves  ? " 

"  Now  listen  —  " 

Chatter  —  chatter  —  buz-z-z. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  That's  a  good  one.  What 
did  the  little  boy  do  ?  " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  213 

"  He  shouted,  '  Rubber,'  and  —  " 

"  After  all,  Plato  lived  a  long  time  ago.  Don't 
you  think  so,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  Doctor  Shorey  can  make  — 

"  Why,  they  are  bottled  up  at  that  San  some 
thing  place,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  have  the  greatest  thing  to  tell 
you." 

"Don't  mention  it." 

"You  say  the  hero's  name  is  Evrard  ?  Is  he 
any  relation  to  the  piano  manufacturer  ? " 

"  Can't  be,  for  he's  neither  grand,  square,  nor 
upright." 

"  Elegant !  " 

Chatter  —  buz. 

"  The  thing  that  makes  me  feel  worse  about 
it  is  —  " 

"What's  the  mucilage  bottle  got  to  do  with 
it  ? " 

"He  always  has  us  give  the  principal  parts  of 
the  verbs." 

"  Why,  that's  the  sticker  !  " 

"  Oh  !  you  fraud.      Ha  !  ha  !  " 

"He's  adorable,  I  know;  but  still  I  don't 
care  so  much  for  a  man  that's  so  popular  with 
the  girls." 


214  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  I  know  it ;  but  a  man  needn't  be  a  stick. 
Now,  in  a  professor  you  want  —  " 

"  I  know  you  do,  and  I'm  sure  we'll  both 
agree  that  this  one  isn't  a  — ' 

"  Oh  !  There  are  the  Beecher  girls  getting 
their  tennis  nets.  Let's  leave  our  pie  and 
skip ! " 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 

After  Sunday  Comes  Monday* 

THE  nine-thirty  bell  had  just  clanged  when 
some  one  accidentally  made  mention  of  Monday. 
Now  the  only  drawback  to  a  college  Sunday  is 
that  it  is  followed  by  a  college  Monday.  So, 
though  harmless  in  itself,  the  remark  had  much 
the  effect  of  a  bomb  dropped  into  the  midst  of 
a  ball.  The  girl  at  the  door  stopped  short  with 
her  pencil  poised  in  the  air,  in  the  act  of  sketch 
ing  her  portrait  for  her  hostess's  memorabil. 
The  girl  with  the  fudge-pan  paused  in  pensive 
reflection  with  a  spoonful  of  crumbs  half-way 
to  her  mouth  ;  the  girl  that  had  been  reading 
aloud  all  evening  stopped  "reading  ahead." 
Subjectively  speaking,  dreary  Monday  had  al 
ready  begun  to  dawn. 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  215 

"  What  time  are  you  going  to  get  up  ?  You 
will  call  me,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  at  six." 

"  Six  !  Dear  child  !  I  must  be  up  by  four 
at  least." 

The  special-topic  course  girl  looked  sympa 
thetic;  the  lecture  course  girl  disdainful,  for 
getting  exam,  week  crams ;  the  scientific  math 
ematician,  who  never  procrastinated,  scolded 
till  the  French  and  Greek  shorter  course  girls 
compromised  at  five. 

The  latter  of  these,  contrary  to  all  Monday 
morning  precedent,  awoke  of  her  own  accord  to 
find  that  some  one  had  closed  the  window  and 
turned  on  the  heat.  The  sun  was  already  up 
and  shining  brightly,  but  the  evident  lateness 
of  the  hour  did  not  worry  her.  In  that  care 
free  mood  that  sometimes  comes  with  sleepi 
ness,  she  turned  over  and  took  another  doze. 
The  entrance  of  the  maid  with  a  meal -order 
awakened  her.  She  was  a  little  astonished  that 
the  girls  should  have  known  she  wanted  it,  but 
that  did  not  interfere  with  the  enjoyment  of 
some  really  tender  steak  and  clear,  hot  coffee. 
Just  as  the  last  bit  of  brown  toast  was  disap- 


2l6  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

pearing  some  one  dropped  in  to  say  there  was  a 
cut  in  Greek  and  no  new  preparation.  So  there 
was  plenty  of  time  to  dress  for  economics.  This 
class  went  off  well,  since  the  professor  had 
decided  a  lecture  would  serve  as  well  for  review 
as  the  expected  written  lesson.  She  wasn't 
called  on  in  Latin,  which  was  fortunate,  for  she 
was  not  good  at  "  sight."  After  lunch  she 
really  did  mean  to  do  two  hours  of  hard  history 
reading,  but  it  was  a  glorious  day  and  golf  is  so 
fascinating.  After  all  it  didn't  matter,  for  she 
shone  at  the  seventh  hour  on  a  point  of  biblio 
graphical  knowledge  gained  from  a  personal 
acquaintance  with  the  author  in  question.  At 
dinner  they  had  ice-cream  as  on  Wednesdays, 
and  while  they  were  still  lingering  around  the 
table,  the  messenger  girl  left  word  that  Mrs. 
Kendricks  had  changed  her  mind  ;  the  Juniors 
might  go  to  the  theatre  that  night,  even  though 
they  had  been  three  days  before,  and  "rush 
tickets"  would  be  allowed.  A  crowd  for  the 
"  peanut  gallery  "  was  quickly  formed  and  the 
novelty  and  unexpectedness  of  the  entertain 
ment  made  it  all  the  more  enjoyable.  Coming 
out  on  the  car  it  was  very  jolly  till  they  got  on 
the  switch  waiting  for  the  down  car.  Then  the 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  217 

lights  went  out  suddenly,  the  people  all  disap 
peared,  leaving  the  doors  open  and  her  alone  in 
the  dark.  Ugh  !  It  was  cold  !  She  shivered 
and  rubbed  her  eyes. 

"  I  thought  you  never  would  wake  up.  I 
nearly  roused  the  house  by  pounding  on  your 
ceiling,  and  had  to  come  down  in  the  cold  after 
all.  Where  are  your  matches  ?  It  is  ten  min 
utes  past  five  and  a  dreary  drizzle  to  greet  you. 
There  !  I  upset  all  your  Greek  papers.  Oh, 
dear !  Why  doesn't  some  one  eliminate  Monday 
from  the  calendar  ?  " 

i.  L.  v. 
Vassar  Miscellany. 

A  Conversation. 

THE  room  was  empty,  drearily  so,  but  there 
was  an  unmistakable  sound  of  whispering  in 
the  air. 

"  Where  are  they  all  ? "  came  in  a  stuffy 
voice  from  the  direction  of  the  window-seat.  A 
long-drawn  sigh  was  the  only  answer,  and  it 
was  unmistakably  from  the  clock. 

"The  Plugger,"  said  the  stuffy  voice,  "where 


2l8  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

is  he  ?  "  "  He's  around,"  sighed  the  clock  ;  "  he 
that  used  to  be  the  paragon  of  virtues  came  in 
an  hour  ago,  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  cussing 
himself  for  having  taken  three  cuts  already  in 
Physics,  —  he  was  dressed  for  Hamp." 

"  I  must  have  been  taking  a  nap,"  said  the 
window-seat.  "  Where's  the  Cynic  ? " 

"  Married,  and  left  college,  —  got  a  good  posi 
tion,  I  hear." 

"  And  the  Sport  ? "  in  a  faint  voice.  "  I 
haven't  heard,"  said  the  clock. 

There  was  a  sob  that  seemed  to  come  from 
the  leather  lounging-chair.  "  He  graduated  last 
June,"  said  the  chair;  "and  I  hear"  —  with 
another  sob  —  "  that  he's  studying  theology 
down  in  Andover."  There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  I  liked  him,"  sighed  the  clock,  "  though  he 
used  to  sling  boots  at  me  in  the  morning  for 
ringing  the  alarm  just  when  he  set  it.  He  used 
to  say  I  was  like  his  overcoat,  —  always  on 
tick." 

There  was  another  solemn  silence,  broken  by 
the  clock,  which  continued  in  a  brighter  voice  : 
"  But  they're  not  all  gone.  The  Individual  was 
in  here  this  morning,  with  the  Plugger.  He 
was  looking  for  a  Horace  trot.  Said  he'd 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  2IQ 

almost  educated  himself  to  the  point  where  he 
could  read  Horace  without  the  aid  of  the  Latin 
text.  Hasn't  changed  any,  either.  He  worried 
around  quite  a  while  trying  to  decide  whether  he 
ought  to  write  to  a  girl  that  he  knew  for  three 
days  last  summer.  Said  she  asked  him  to,  but 
he  says  he  has  the  feeling  that  a  fellow  oughtn't 
to  take  advantage  of  things  a  girl  says  in  the 
summer  —  any  more  than  hold  people  to  prom 
ises  made  in  their  sleep.  He  thinks  it's  a  sort 
of  malady  with  'em." 

"  That's  what  the  Sport  always  said,"  sighed 
the  chair.  "  He  never  wrote  letters,  anyway. 
All  the  time  he  was  with  me  he  only  wrote 
one,  and  that  was  in  answer  to  a  dun  from 
Utterly.  I  remember  it,  because  he  sat  on  my 
arm  and  wrote  it  on  a  pad.  It  read  : 

"  H.  A.  UTTERLY, 

"  'Dear  Sir :  —  Yours  at  hand  ;  I  am  in  the 
habit  of  settling  my  acc'ts  alphabetically,  and 
will  give  yours  attention  when  I  get  to  U. 

"  '  Sincerely  yours.' 

Wasn't  bad,  was  it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  just  like  the  Sport,"  said  the  window- 
seat  ;  "  awfully  sorry  he's  gone.  When  he  was 


22O  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

here  those  scrub  ladies  never  dared  to  fill  me 
up  with  rubbish  every  Friday." 

"  Well,"  murmured  the  clock,  "  I  guess  there's 
more  like  him,  —  Amherst  don't  change  for 
the  worse,  and  if  good  men  have  gone,  better 
ones'll  come." 

"  What  we  need  is  a  little  more  fair  weather," 
muttered  the  chair. 

"Shut  up,"  said  the  clock,  "the  Sport  was 
too  much  for  you  —  besides,  here  comes  Prof. 
Charley  for  the  waste  paper  basket." 

And  silence  reigned  once  more. 

Amherst  Literary  Monthly. 

His  Last  Appeal. 

"  You  have  ruined  my  life,"  he  wrote,  and 
then  stopped,  for  he  was  a  thoughtful  youth 
and  generally  considered  what  he  said.  He 
glanced  back  over  the  page  and  read  it  again. 
"  Heartle-ss-ly  you  led  me  on,  knowing  all  the 
time  that  you  would  one  day  break  my  heart,  and 
glorying  in  the  fact.  Would  we  had  never  met. 
I  felt  your  power  over  me  from  the  first,  but 
did  not  struggle  against  it.  Why  should  I  ?  I 
thought  you  were  pure,  innocent,  true,  all 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  221 

that  you  seemed.  Well  do  I  remember  that 
first  night.  We  walked  hand  in  hand  in  the 
moonlight  by  the  long  stretching  beach.  You 
were  a  revelation  to  me.  An  orphan,  having 
neither  mother  nor  sister  in  my  childhood,  it 
was  not  strange  that  you  awakened  in  me  all 
the  delicate  sensitiveness  so  long  dormant. 
Since  that  hour  every  minute  of  my  being  has 
been  a  sacrifice  to  your  presence.  How  I  have 
striven  to  be  to  you  what  I  hoped  you  would 
always  be  to  me  !  Last  night  all  was  a  beauti 
ful  dream.  To-night  I  stand  overwhelmed  with 
my  loneliness.  Once  I  had  had  no  inspiration, 
now  I  have  had  it  and  lost  it.  Who  is  to  blame  ? 
Need  I  ask  you  ?  Let  your  false  heart  answer, 
if  there  be  still  one  true  voice  left  in  it  ;  you 
have  ruined  me." 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  upon  the  table 
and  laid  his  aching  head  heavily  upon  them. 
Manly  tears,  long  pent  up,  burst  from  his  eyes 
as  he  murmured,  "  No,  no,  not  even  the  Boston 
Globe  would  accept  that,  and  my  board  bill  is 
due  to-morrow." 

H. 
Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly. 


222  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


The  Postmaster's  Story* 

THE  "  Liars'  Club  "  was  holding  its  regular 
monthly  meeting  in  the  little  old  "grocery  "  at 
the  Centre,  and  was  now  about  to  adjourn. 
There  had  been  an  unusually  large  attendance 
and  the  stories  had  been  unusually  good.  The 
plug  of  tobacco,  which  was  always  the  prize  on 
such  an  occasion,  had  been  won  by  Aaron  Stod- 
dard  for  the  third  consecutive  time.  It  was 
growing  late ;  in  fact,  the  clock  had  already 
struck  nine,  when  somebody  suggested  that  the 
postmaster  should  bring  the  meeting  to  a  close 
with  a  story.  Now,  it  was  not  customary  for 
the  old  man  to  join  in  the  competition  ;  in  fact, 
his  position  bordered  on  that  of  president,  al 
though  there  were  no  regularly  appointed  offi 
cers.  But  on  this  occasion  his  smile  indicated 
that  he  considered  the  suggestion  with  approval. 
So,  after  taking  a  light  lunch  of  fresh  Virginia 
leaf,  he  began  : 

"  Wall,  boys,  this  hain't  much  of  a  story,  but 
you  all  know  ol'  Sim  Rexwood  over  Sherbu'n 
way  —  died  'bout  ten,  mebbe  twelve  years  ago  — 
used  to  stammer  powerfully.  It  'ud  bin  a  good 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  223 

year  for  corn,  and  they'd  bin  bothered  some  by 
the  squirrels.  One  day,  as  Sim  was  comin'  up 
from  the  barn,  where  he'd  been  milkin',  he  saw 
one  on  the  ridge-pole  of  the  granary  makin'  a 
good  deal  of  noise.  "  Ch-ch-chit-chitter  away," 
said  Sim,  "but  I'll  fix  ye."  So  he  went  into 
the  house  and  brought  out  one  of  them  old-fash 
ioned  muskets,  —  the  kind  with  three  brass  rings 
down  the  barrel,  flint-lock,  and  hold  about  a 
handful  of  powder ;  bin  loaded  three,  mebbe 
six  months.  Sim  took  good  aim,  poked  the 
muzzle  up  at  the  squirrel,  fired,  and  the  gun 
knocked  him  flat  on  his  back.  He  was  dazed 
for  a  moment,  then  he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw 
the  squirrel  still  on  the  ridge-pole,  and  it  made 
him  mad.  "  Ch-ch-chit-chitter  away,  cuss  ye," 
he  hollered,  "  but  if  ye'd  b-b-bin  at  the  other  end 
of  that  g-gun,  ye'd  quit  ch-ch-chit-chitterin'." 
And  the  meeting  adjourned. 

JOHN  A.  THOMPSON. 
Wesley  an  Literary  Month  I}'. 


224  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


Bane  and  Antidote* 

THIS  is  the  story  of  the  sadness  of  a  Fresh 
man,  and  how  his  sadness  was  soothed. 

Dicky's  ankle  had  been  strained,  some  said 
by  running  up  a  hill  in  the  early  morning,  some 
said  by  chasing  a  pig  in  the  dusk  of  evening. 
And  Dicky  sat  at  his  table  on  this  night  when 
the  sorrow  came  on  him,  with  his  game  leg 
propped  in  a  cushioned  chair.  He  was  looking 
at  a  French  grammar,  thinking  he  was  studying 
it,  and  all  was  going  well.  Then  a  door,  the 
front  hall  door  down-stairs,  opened  and  shut 
heavily,  and  Dicky,  listening,  could  hear  the 
sound  of  girls'  voices.  Now  this  is  a  strange 
thing  in  a  Frat  house,  and  only  happens  on 
Party  Nights.  This  was  Party  Night.  It  was 
therefore  that  Dicky  was  sad. 

"  Up  here  with  this-sleg  "  —  through  clenched 
teeth,  "  bucking  Fre-hench  "  —  this  with  a  stifled 
—  well  —  suspiration,  "  while  "  —  the  rest  of  the 
sentence  was  drowned.  A  French  grammar  fell 
heavily  in  the  opposite  corner. 

Dicky  grew  bitter.  "  Oh,  yes.  This  is  sworn 
friendship  for  you,  friendship  and  —  brother- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  225 

hood,"  sardonic  on  this  last  word,  "  nice  brother 
hood.  Not  a  fellow  has  stuck  his  head  in  here 
the  whole  evening  —  every  last  mucker  grinning 
and  capering  down-stairs  —  and  me  a  crip."  Oh, 
well,  these  people  were  not  of  his  sort,  anyway. 
Say,  the  whole  town  was  a  lonesome  hole.  It 
wouldn't  last  always,  though.  Then  Dicky 
studied  the  calendar.  .  .  .  Finally  he  sighed, 
and  took  up  a  pen. 

"  DEAR  MOTHER  :  —  The  wind  is  whistling 
through  the  bare  trees.  The  rain  is  beating 
upon  the  windows.  I  am  alone  in  my  room, 
and  am  so  lonesome  for  all  of  you."  Here  Dick 
turned  around.  The  bright  moonlight  smiled 
into  the  room,  and  the  breeze  from  the  open 
window  scarcely  stirred  the  curtain.  He  grinned 
sheepishly,  and  tore  the  letter  into  strips.  Then 
he  chewed  one  of  the  strips  in  deeper  dejection 
than  before. 

Dick  could  hear  an  occasional  mug  clinking 
the  sides  of  the  punch-bowl.  The  music  struck 
up  a  familiar  waltz.  Merry  feet  were  scraping 
to  its  measures.  The  boy's  melancholy  grew 
positively  abysmal.  He  did  not  remember  ever 
to  have  felt  so  bad.  He  wished  he  could  think 
of  something  poetical  and  tragic  to  say.  And 


226  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

finally  recollecting  having  read  about  a  fellow 
that  wanted  his  flesh  to  melt,  Dick  sought  and 
found  comfort  in  "  How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and 
unprofitable  seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this 
world."  Having  read  this  speech  through,  with 
cramping  throat  and  moistened  eye  Dick  hob 
bled  to  bed,  with  his  nose  feeling  as  if  he  had 
been  drinking  untold  pop. 

A  little  later  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door. 
Dick  was  drowsing.  "  What  you  want  ?  "  he 
grunted.  Something  metallic  bumped  slightly 
against  the  door,  and  Dick  recognised  the  voice 
of  the  other  Freshman  :  "  Open  it,  will  you  ?  I've 
got  my  hands  busy."  Dick  extended  himself 
across  a  chair  and  turned  the  knob.  The  door 
was  pushed  in  by  a  foot  from  the  outside.  The 
other  Freshman  entered.  He  was  carrying  a 
tray.  "Oh,  you're  abed,  old  man.  Weren't 
asleep,  were  you  ?  Thought  you  might  like 
some  of  this  stuff,  you  know.  Shall  I  set  it 
on  the  chair?  All  right.  Yes,  swell  time. 
Rotten  shame  you  can't  be  down.  How's  the 
limb  ? " 

But  Dick  was  looking  at  the  tray  —  and  melt 
ing.  There  was  cake  with  nuts  in  it.  Punch, 
too.  And  ice-cream,  a  slice,  with  white,  pink, 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  227 

and  green  sections.  As  Dick's  mouth  filled,  his 
heart  kept  it  company ;  clearly  the  fellows  were 
not  so  bad.  The  world  was  not  so  dark  a  place 
after  all. 

It  was  a  half-hour  after  this  that  the  Senior 
opened  the  door  of  Dick's  room  —  without 
knocking.  He  had  come  up  to  tell  Dick  that 
Elsie  had  been  inquiring  after  him.  But  the 
Senior  only  looked  in,  lit  a  match,  and  withdrew. 
The  Freshman  was  slumbering  nasally  in  pro 
found  and  plethoric  content. 

EDWIN  SNOW. 
Wisconsin 

The  Conversion  of  Fredericks* 

THE  night  of  the  mass-meeting  Fredericks 
mused  gloomily  in  his  room.  "  It  can't  do  any 
good,  that's  sure ;  there'll  be  a  lot  of  cheering 
and  rot  about  Harvard  spirit,  and  that'll  be  the 
end  of  it.  Come  in,"  he  shouted,  answering  a 
feeble  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Brag  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  tutor;  "I  thought  I'd 
find  you  in  to-night,  so  —  " 


228  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"What  made  you  think  you'd  find  me  in 
to-night  ?  "  demanded  Fredericks,  savagely. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  "  queried  the  other,  rais 
ing  his  eyebrows. 

"  Why,  man  ?  Because  we  both  ought  to  be 
at  the  mass-meeting.  You  know  that  as  well 
as  I  do." 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  hadn't  thought  of  it.  And 
since  we're  not  there,  let's  get  to  work  on  this 
Phil ;  that's  what  I  came  for." 

"  It  won't  do  any  good.  What's  the  use  ?  " 
muttered  Fredericks,  absently. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  try,  —  old  Potter  always 
gives  a  stiff  exam." 

"  Great  heavens,  man,  can't  you  ever  think 
of  anything  but  marks  and  exams  ?  There's 
something  going  on  to-night  that  vitally  con 
cerns  us  all ;  that's  going  to  effect  a  big  change 
for  the  better.  My  —  what  are  you  grinning 
at  ? " 

Brag  rose  to  go.  "  I'm  grinning,  as  you're 
pleased  to  call  it,  because  you're  so  hopelessly 
illogical  to-night,  that  to  try  logic  would  be  a 
waste  of  time.  You'd  better  go  over  to  the 
mass-meeting ;  that's  what  you're  thinking 
about." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  229 

"  No,  I'm  not.  It  can't  do  any  good,  as  I  said 
before.  Sit  down,  old  man  ;  fire  away." 

The  tutor  opened  his  well-fingered  book,  and 
began  to  read  straightway  in  a  monotonous,  nasal 
drone,  which  he  varied  occasionally  by  a  quick 
explanation. 

"  It  would  be  fine,  though,  wouldn't  it," 
broke  in  Fredericks,  abruptly,  "to  meet  all 
sorts  of  fellows,  to  find  out  what  they're  like, 
what  they  think,  to  make  them  think  well  of 
you  ? " 

"  I  wish  you  would  pay  attention,  please," 
said  Brag,  testily.  Then  he  went  on  to  explain 
with  infinite  patience  the  mysteries  of  Barbara, 
Celarent.  But  Fredericks  heard  only  sounds. 
Suddenly  there  floated  up  from  without  a  faint 
"  Rah,  Rah,  Rah,  Rah,  Rah,  Rah,  Ha— ! " 

"  That's  the  end  of  it,"  sighed  Fredericks. 

"Not  of  this,  though,"  answered  his  tutor, 
flushing.  "You  see,  the  first  figure  is  easily 
the  most  important.  You  remember  the  dia 
gram  he  gave  in  the  lecture.  Oh,  that's  so,  you 
missed  that  one.  Well,  it's  like  this  —  " 

"Sh!  there's  the  band,"  interrupted  Fred 
ericks,  eagerly.  The  faint,  discordant  sounds 
of  "  Up  the  Street "  annoyed  Brag  exceedingly. 


230  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

He  glanced  impatiently  at  the  clock.  "  I'll 
come  some  other  time,"  he  said,  stiffly. 

"  Oh,  sit  down,  there's  a  good  fellow.  You 
don't  want  me  to  flunk." 

Brag,  the  much  enduring,  sat  down  and  began 
anew  his  interrupted  explanation.  But  his  pupil 
was  not  listening  :  the  band,  the  noise  was  com 
ing  nearer,  and,  flunk  or  no  flunk,  he  leaped  to 
the  window.  Thence  he  saw,  way  down  by  Hoi- 
worthy,  a  great  black  snake,  twisting  and  wrig 
gling,  and  lighting  up  strangely  in  different  parts 
with  transiently  gleaming  eyes.  The  serpent 
glided  around  Stoughton,  toward  him.  At  length 
the  noisy  animal  reached  University,  and  became 
a  silent,  amorphous  mass  of  black. 

Brag  continued  to  read  and  Fredericks  lis 
tened,  quivering  with  excitement  and  scorn. 
The  first  barking  cheer  brought  him  with  a 
bound  to  the  window.  But  the  tutor,  deter 
mined  to  finish  the  chapter,  read  loudly :  "  Di- 
lemmatic  arguments  are,  however,  more  often 
fallacious  than  not,  because  it  is  seldom  pos 
sible  to  find  instances  where  two  alternatives 
exhaust  —  " 

"  Shut  up,  you  cad,"  hissed  Fredericks,  almost 
crying. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  2  3  I 

From  the  depths  of  the  darkness  rose  "  Fair 
Harvard,"  a  great,  swelling   paean  of   common 
joy  and  hope.     Into  the  yard  there   rushed   a 
hatless,  coatless  figure,  singing  like  mad. 
MURRAY  SEASONGOOD. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

The  Freshman's  Ideal* 

SOME  of  us  have  ideals.  Some  of  us  have 
ideals  which  we  have  supplied  with  costumes,  so 
that  however  questionable  a  proceeding  we  may 
have  entered  upon,  we  feel  that  our  ideals  are 
still  with  us,  garbed  as  becomes  the  occasion. 
And  there  are  others  who  try  to  bring  them 
selves  into  harmony  with  their  ideals,  and  not 
vice  versa.  Such  a  one  is  the  hero  of  this  little 
tale,  which  serves  to  show  how  we  may  uncon 
sciously  wreck  the  happiness  of  another. 

A  certain  Freshman  had  formed  an  attach 
ment  for  a  Senior.  The  attachment  was  not 
reciprocated,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  state, 
since  the  Senior  did  not  know  of  its  existence. 
The  Freshman  had  worshipped  from  afar.  He 
had  observed  the  authority  the  Senior's  words 
had  among  his  fellows ;  he  had  seen  the  look 


232  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

of  deference  members  of  the  faculty  exhibited 
when  they  met  him ;  and  most  of  all,  he  envied 
the  high  stand  which  he  took  in  the  good  graces 
of  the  town  maidens.  All  these  points  were 
carefully  noted  by  the  Freshman,  and  he  said 
to  himself,  "  Some  day  I  will  be  a  great  and 
good  Senior."  But  alas  ! 

He  had  wandered  one  night,  after  an  evening's 
grind,  far  into  the  country.  The  harvest  moon 
brightened  his  path,  and  his  active  fancy  was 
throwing  a  bridge  over  three  years  of  his  future, 
when  he  was  startled  by  sounds  of  revelry.  He 
looked  into  the  adjoining  field  and  beheld  a 
barn,  through  the  cracks  of  which  he  could  see 
that  the  building  was  lighted  up.  How  well  he 
could  picture  the  interior !  How  often  he  had 
participated  in  similar  scenes !  The  piles  of 
corn,  the  gallant  youths,  the  jugs  of  cider,  and 
the  pretty  maidens,  —  in  fancy  he  saw  them  all. 
Although  he  could  not  participate  in  their  joy, 
he  would  at  least ^view  it.  And  in  an  instant 
he  is  over  the  fence  and  stumbling  through  the 
ploughed  field  which  reaches  to  the  side  of  the 
barn.  He  stoops  and  applies  his  eye  to  a  con 
venient  knot-hole.  He  sees  within  a  crowd  of 
men,  their  coarse  features  intensified  by  the 


CAP   AND   GOWN   IN    PROSE  233 

excitement  they  are  experiencing.  Every  eye 
is  focussed  upon  the  two  combatants  in  their 
midst.  On  the  other  side  from  him,  his  features 
clearly  shown  by  the  light  of  an  overhanging 
lantern,  his  hair  dishevelled,  his  scholarly  brow 
wrinkled  by  the  interest  he  feels,  watch  in  hand, 
is  the  exemplary  Senior.  He  is  timing  a  dog 
fight !  * 

An  insuppressible  lump  rose  in  the  Fresh 
man's  throat,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  he  with 
drew  his  gaze  from  a  scene  which  had  blotted 
the  light  out  of  his  life. 

JOHN  A.  THOMPSON. 
Wesley  an  Literary  Monthly. 

A  College  Revery, 

WILL  that  bell  never  ring  ?  Time  must  be 
up.  I  am  ashamed  to  look  at  my  watch  again. 
He  saw  me  last  time  and  I  haven't  done  any 
thing  but  gape  for  the  last  twenty  minutes.  I 
am  positively  the  sleepiest  man  that  ever  dozed 
in  a  college  class-room.  Any  one  but  a  fool 
would  have  cut  —  except  myself,  with  twenty- 
nine  already  after  my  name.  By  Jove  !  I  must 
pay  attention.  He  is  apt  to  call  on  me  any 


234  CAP    AND   GOWN   IN    PROSE 

time.  Look  at  those  girls  in  the  front  row. 
Girls  ?  Well,  perhaps !  Anyhow,  they  write 
away  as  though  they  were  taking  down  every 
word.  Great  Scott !  That  was  a  narrow  escape. 
He  looked  at  me  twice  before  he  asked  —  I'm 
next.  What  was  that  question  ?  "  What  was 
the  next  act  of  Peter  the  Great  ? "  His  — 
what  was  it  ?  Ask  me  ?  Hang  Peter  the 
Great !  What  is  my  next  act  ?  That  is  much 
more  to  the  point.  That  bell  must  be  broken 
again.  Just  my  luck.  I've  got  to  say  some 
thing  —  flunked  yesterday.  Bluff  ?  Yes,  I  will 
bluff  a  lot  when  I  haven't  caught  a  word  for 
the  last  half  hour.  What's  that  he  said  about 
Poland  ?  What  can  I  say  about  Poland  ?  WTell, 
I  will!  Hear  that  "Grad"  apologise  because 
he  looked  the  fact  up  in  only  three  authorities. 
Ha  !  ha !  Help  !  He's  looking  at  me  again.  See 
that  twinkle  in  his  eye !  Knows  he's  got  me. 
Confound  these  courses  that  are  neither  recita 
tions  nor  lectures  —  don't  give  me  any  more 
of  this  half  and  half.  My  name !  Well,  here's 
for  a  bluff  or  a  flunk  —  Ah !  There  goes  the 
bell !  Saved  again  ! 

T. 

University  of  Chicago  Weekly. 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  235 

Uncle  Bill's  Opinions. 

I.    ON    INTEMPERANCE. 

YES,  children,  drink  is  a  bad  thing ;  indirectly 
it  was  the  cause  of  Uncle  Jake's  death.  I'll 
tell  ye  how  it  happened. 

On  his  fortieth  birthday  he  gave  one  of  them 
there  swell  birthday  parties,  and  he  had  a  big 
cake  with  forty  candles  a-burnin'  on  it,  —  one 
candle  fur  each  year  of  his  life.  Wai,  yer  uncle 
got  to  drinkin'  and  drinkin',  till  finally  he  drank 
so  gol  durn  much  that  he  got  to  seem'  double, 
and  the  next  time  he  looked  at  that  birthday 
cake  he  counted  eighty  candles  instead  of  forty, 
and  he  died  of  old  age,  —  all  due  to  likker, 
children,  all  due  to  likker. 

II.    ON    ATHLETICS. 

WHAT  !  let  you  children  go  an'  see  them 
thar  college  students  play  football  ?  Never  ! 
Why,  that  game  is  the  most  brutal  and  dan 
gerous  game,  by  gosh,  that  was  ever  invented. 
I'd  sooner  let  you  walk  under  a  ladder  on 


236  CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Friday  with  thirteen   black  cats  a-folleren  be 
hind  you. 

Why,  jest  to  show  you  how  all-fired  danger 
ous  football  is,  take  the  case  of  yer  cousin  Silas, 
who  died  before  you  was  born.  He  was  down 
in  the  big  city  a-walkin'  peaceably  along,  when 
a  wagon  come  a-thunderin'  down  the  road  like 
hellbentfurelection,  an*  jest  as  Silas  was  crossin', 
the  gol  ding  thing  swooped  down  on  him  an' 
busted  his  leg  fur  life,  by  gosh  !  We  found  out 
afterwards  that  that  wagon  was  comin'  from  a 
football  game,  and  that  goes  to  show  how  all-fired 
dangerous  the  game  is.  That  was  back  in  '52. 

They  didn't  play  football  then,  you  say  ? 
Wai,  if  they  had,  that  wagon  would  probably 
have  been  comin'  from  the  game  jest  the  same, 
'cause  the  driver  always  was  fond  of  sports. 
Anyhow,  it  proves  that  it  ain't  no  fit  game  fur 
you  children  to  see. 

Princeton  Tiger. 

On  a  High  StooL 

IF  your  train  stopped  long  enough,  and  you 
knew  the  customs  of  the  place,  you  hurried 
down  behind  the  station  to  the  little  German's, 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  237 

where  they  sold  rye  bread  and  "delicatessen." 
There  you  sat  on  a  high  stool,  with  your  eye  on 
the  clock,  and  ate  the  most  delicious  sausages, 
all  hot  and  spicy,  and  drank  the  mustiest  of  ale, 
with  your  rye  bread  in  among  the  swallows ; 
until  the  blue-eyed  waiter  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  said:  "Dot  engin'  is  boggin'  oop." 
Then  you  took  one  last,  big  mouthful,  grabbed 
your  change,  and  ran. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Little  Tommy  Atkins, 

IT  was  his  very,  very  dirty  face  which  first 
attracted  me ;  that,  and  his  brass  buttons.  He 
was  devouring  a  large  and  greasy  sandwich. 
After  he  had  pitched  the  crust  over  the  railing 
into  the  water,  he  came  over  and  sat  down  near 
me. 

"  Are  you  all  alone  ?  "  I  said,  pleasantly. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  I  am  on  my  way  home  from 
school." 

It  was  then  the  last  week  in  August.  I 
started,  and  gazed  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  School !  What  school  ?  "  I  gasped.  Vague 
visions  of  reformatories  passed  through  my  mind. 


238  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"The  Cadet  School  of  San  Francisco,"  he 
answered,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

"  Oh  !  "  I  said.     "  A  long  vacation  ?  " 

"A  month,  and  I'm  home  only  two  weeks  of 
that,  for  it  takes  me  a  week  to  come  and  a  week 
to  go." 

I  looked  at  the  dirt  on  his  face  and  believed 
him. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  a  sailor,"  he  continued,  see 
ing  that  I  was  interested.  "  My  father  is  second 
lieutenant  on  the  Texas.  He  gets  thirty-two 
dollars  a  month." 

He  paused  a  moment  to  see  how  that  would 
impress  me,  and  then  continued  :  "  My  oldest 
brother  is  in  the  navy,  too.  I've  got  a  brother 
in  the  army,  and  I've  got  a  sister  who  is  a  Red 
Cross  nurse.  She's  in  Cuba.  My  mother  and 
the  kids  stay  home." 

I  felt  like  asking  how,  in  that  case,  he  hap 
pened  to  be  in  San  Francisco  at  school,  but 
wisely  refrained.  Instead  I  asked  him  quite 
as  foolish  a  question,  —  if  he  ever  got  sea 
sick. 

"I  ain't  a  girl,"  he  said,  calmly,  but  not 
impertinently.  I  never  felt  so  keenly  the 
inferiority  of  my  sex  as  at  that  moment.  So 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  239 

I  changed  the  subject  by  asking  him  why  he 
wished  to  be  a  sailor. 

His  little  homely,  freckled  face  lighted  up. 
"The  United  States  needs  sailors,"  he  said, 
"  so  I  am  going  to  be  a  sailor." 

Could  there  be  a  stronger  oath  of  allegiance 
to  country  than  that  ? 

When  the  boat  reached  the  dock  in  New 
York,  "I'm  almost  home,"  he  said.  "We  live 
in  Hoboken.  I  wish  vacation  was  longer.  I 
see  my  mother  only  two  weeks  during  a  year, 
you  know." 

The  crowd  was  pushing  toward  the  gang-plank. 

"  Good-bye,  Tommy  Atkins,"  I  said. 

"My  name's  Nelson  Farrigan,"  he  started  to 
say,  when  a  big  man  stepped  behind  him,  and  I 
saw  him  no  more.  But  I  call  him  Tommy 
Atkins  all  the  same. 

MARY  H.  FISHER. 

Wellesley  Magazine. 

Three  O'clock,  A.  M. 

THE  theatre  was  just  out  and  I  was  standing 
on  Harrington  corner  waiting  for  a  West  Side 
car.  The  city  hall  clock  was  striking  eleven. 


240  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

As  the  crowd  surged  by  me  I  felt  something 
pushed  into  my  palm  ;  my  first  impulse  was  to 
close  my  hand,  the  next  to  see  what  my  prize 
was.  It  proved  to  be  a  crumpled  piece  of 
paper,  and  in  the  half  light  from  a  drug  store  I 
made  out  the  following  : 

"  Meet  me  here  at  three  to-morrow  morning." 

There  was  no  signature. 

The  problem  of  standing  in  a  foot  of  floor 
space  and  balancing  in  a  swinging  car  by  a 
strap,  kept  me  so  busy  that  I  forgot  my  queer 
letter  till  I  was  comfortably  settled  before  the 
cheerful  fire  in  my  room.  Feeling  through  my 
pockets  for  a  match,  I  came  across  the  crumpled 
missive.  I  examined  it  closely  and  saw  that  it 
was  written  in  a  strong  hand  on  good  paper. 
Although  not  an  expert,  I  felt  convinced  that 
it  was  a  man's  writing.  Now,  who  in  the  world 
could  want  me  at  three  in  the  morning !  No 
one  that  I  could  think  of ;  and  being  of  an 
imaginative  nature  I  had  soon  made  up  a  beau 
tiful  story.  The  clock  striking  twelve  aroused 
me.  "  Come,"  said  I,  "  I  must  get  a  little 
sleep  if  I  am  going  to  keep  my  appointment." 
I  had  determined  to  see  it  through.  I  did  not 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  24! 

go  to  bed,  but  set  my  alarm  clock  at  2.30,  and 
wrapping  myself  in  a  blanket,  was  soon  sleeping 
on  the  couch. 

The  discordant  jangle  of  the  alarm  seemed 
out  of  place  in  my  dream  of  a  summer  sailing 
party,  but  I  jumped  up,  and  by  quarter  of  three 
I  was  ready  to  start.  I  had  put  on  a  pair  of 
old  knickerbockers,  a  heavy  sweater  to  guard 
against  the  chill  of  the  fall  morning,  and  a  small 
cap.  I  had  debated  whether  to  take  a  re 
volver  or  no,  but  decided  in  favour  of  a  stout 
hickory  stick  which  I  had  cut  years  ago  in 
the  mountains. 

I  could  not  suppress  a  low  laugh  as  I  care 
fully  let  myself  into  the  quiet  street.  The 
electric  lights  went  out  just  as  I  turned  into 
Pleasant  Street,  and  over  Newton  Hill  I  could 
see  the  rim  of  the  moon  disappearing.  Not  a 
living  being  was  in  sight,  and  the  night  seemed 
to  grow  darker  every  minute.  I  crossed  Main 
Street  and  took  my  place  on  the  corner  just  as 
the  clock  began  to  strike  three.  The  last 
stroke  was  dying  away  when  some  one  touched 
my  arm.  I  jumped,  for  I  had  heard  no  one 
come  up.  It  was  Tom  Finegan,  the  night 
policeman,  who  had  disturbed  me,  and  who  said, 


242  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

in  a  gruff  voice,  "  Well,  you  came,  did  you  ? " 
"  Yes,  I've  come.  What  do  you  want  me  for  ? " 
Tom  was  six  feet  four,  a  lean,  lank  Irishman 
with  a  bulldog  jaw,  and  twinkling  blue  eyes, 
the  kind  that  sometimes  turn  hard  and  glitter 
like  steel ;  when  they  do,  wise  and  understand 
ing  men  stand  from  under.  At  the  present 
moment,  as  near  as  I  could  see,  an  almost 
infantile  smile  shone  over  his  face  as,  in  answer 
to  my  question,  he  said,  "  I've  got  something  to 
show  you."  I  looked  at  him  carefully,  but 
could  get  no  clue  from  his  face.  "  Well,  hurry 
up,"  I  said.  We  started  down  Main  Street  at  a 
good  pace  and  turned  up  Foster. 

The  old  rink  loomed  up  large  and  dark,  and 
in  the  deep  shadow  I  saw  a  team.  In  a 
moment  we  had  reached  it.  It  was  the  "  Hurry- 
up"  wagon.  "Get  in,  sir,"  said  big  Tom,  and, 
being  too  surprised  to  resist,  I  was  helped  up 
the  steps  by  a  powerful  shove.  "  What  in  the 
name  of  thundering  blazes  is  this  for  ? "  I 
thought,  as  we  rattled  over  the  rough  street.  I 
looked  at  Tom,  but  his  face  was  fixed  as  a 
sphinx.  I  had  just  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  him, 
when  we  stopped  about  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  Union  Depot.  A  familiar  voice  sounded 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  243 

out  of  the  darkness,  "  How  do  you  like  riding 
in  the  patrol  wagon  ? "  It  was  my  friend  Billy 
Williams,  the  detective.  I  began  to  expostu 
late,  but  couldn't  well  continue  angry  at  Billy 
when  he  went  on  :  "  You  know  last  week  you 
said  you  wondered  how  people  felt  when  they 
rode  in  the  '  Hurry-up,'  so  I  gave  you  a  chance  ; 
and  you  wanted  to  see  how  a  man  acted  when 
he  was  trying  to  get  away  from  the  law  and  was 
arrested  suddenly.  Tom  Southard,  the  New 
York  forger,  is  going  through  on  the  3.40 
express,  and  we  are  going  to  nab  him.  Come 
on.  I  knew  you  would  want  to  come,  and  it 
was  too  good  a  chance  to  give  the  go-by." 

Billy  is  a  good  fellow,  but  I  can't  say  that  I 
think  he  has  a  very  delicate  sense  of  humour. 
JOHN  GREGSON,  JR. 

Bowdoin  Quill. 

Poor  Little  Reginald* 

I  HADN'T  seen  Mrs.  Peter,  young  Mrs.  Peter, 
I  mean,  since  Easter.  That  was  nearly  six 
months  before,  and  in  six  months,  I  protest,  one 
may  be  forgiven  for  forgetting  a  great  many 
things. 


244  CAP    AN-D    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

We  conversed  for  some  little  time  about 
commonplaces  not  worth  the  repeating. 

"  You  remember  little  Reginald  ? "  inquired 
Mrs.  Van  Holt  at  last,  with  a  plaintive  droop 
of  the  voice. 

I  hesitated  long  enough  to  review  mentally  a 
squadron  of  yellow-haired  and  leather-beleg- 
ginged  Little  Lord  Fauntleroys  who  belonged, 
severally,  to  the  young  married  ladies  of  my 
acquaintance.  Was  there  a  Reginald  among 
them  ?  I  thought  so.  Still  —  "  You  cannot 
have  forgotten  Reginald,  I  am  sure,"  she  added, 
a  little  reproachfully,  with  emphasis  on  the 
"  sure." 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  answered,  quickly  ;  "  who 
could  forget  the  dear  little  fellow  ?  " 

"We  lost  him  last  summer,"  said  she,  sadly. 

"  I  cannot  express  how  your  words  grieve  and 
surprise  me,"  I  hastened  to  say.  "  It  is  very 
strange  that  I  did  not  hear  of  it.  Was  he  ill 
long  ? " 

"  He  wasn't  ill  exactly,  —  I  shouldn't  say," 
she  replied,  pensively.  "He  died  of  internal 
injuries,  the  doctor  said." 

"An  accident?"  I  suggested,  sympathetic^ 
ally. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  245 

"  Yes,  he  was  run  over  by  a  cab  in  front  of 
the  house,  and  died  a  few  hours  later." 

"  How  dreadful !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  What  a 
shock  it  must  have  given  you,  Mrs.  Van  Holt." 

"I  am  sure  it^did.  Indeed,  Peter  said  it  was 
wrong  for  me  to  take  it  so  much  to  heart  as  I 
did.  He  said  it  was  a  sin ;  but  I  don't  think 
it  was,  do  you  ?  " 

"The  duty  of  restraining  one's  grief  at  the 
losses  of  those  one  loves,  is  a  duty  more  hon 
oured  in  the  breach  than  in  the  observance,  I 
fancy,"  said  I.  I  felt  quite  proud  of  that 
remark.  For  a  man  not  given  to  making  moral 
reflections,  it  seemed  to  me  rather  good. 

"Now  you  are  laughing  at  me,"  cried  Mrs. 
Van  Holt,  pettishly.  "  You  men  have  no  feel 
ing,  any  of  you." 

"  You  wrong  me,  I  assure  you,"  I  protested, 
vehemently.  Peter  Van  Holt  might  be  a  brute, 
but  I  was  not.  "  You  wrong  me  deeply,"  I  con 
tinued,  "  in  believing  for  a  moment  I  would 
scoff  at  maternal  affection,  that  purest  —  " 

I  stopped.  There  was  something  like  a  smile 
lurking  in  Mrs.  Van  Holt's  features.  Then  I 
realised  my  blunder.  I  was  furious.  How,  in 
Heaven's  name,  could  a  man  be  expected  to 


246  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

remember  all  the  miserable  little  curs  that  fool 
ish  women  might  choose  to  lavish  their  affec 
tions  upon  ? 

"  We  have  been  having  beautiful  weather  for 
the  last  few  days,  have  we  not  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Van 
Holt,  sweetly. 

PERCIVAL  HENRY  TRUMAN. 

Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

Lunches. 

IT  is  amusing  to  watch  the  different  charac 
teristics  of  the  girls  in  one  class  as  shown  by 
their  lunches.  One  girl,  who  is  very  particular 
in  her  manners  and  conversation,  has  a  small, 
neat  lunch-box  with  each  article  wrapped  up  sepa 
rately  in  white  tissue-paper.  Her  bread  sand 
wiches,  about  half  the  size  of  ordinary  ones,  are 
nearly  as  thin  as  chips.  A  hearty,  whole-souled 
girl  usually  sits  beside  her,  and  their  lunches 
are  as  different  as  the  girls  themselves.  The 
latter  has  a  large  leather  box  filled  with  good 
substantial  sandwiches,  fat  pickles,  and  usually  a 
generous  piece  of  pie,  the  size  of  which  fairly 
makes  one  hungry.  These  are  packed  neatly  in 
a  big,  snowy  napkin.  There  is  another  lunch 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  247 

that  is  particularly  characteristic  of  its  owner, 
who  is  one  of  these  restless,  high-spirited  girls, 
always  rushing  from  one  thing  to  another.  Her 
grapes  and  cake  are  usually  mashed  together  in 
a  confused  state  at  the  bottom  of  the  box,  while 
a  large  heavy  apple  stands  boldly  on  top  of  the 
wreck,  regardless  of  consequences. 

E.  M.  T. 
T/ie  College  Folio. 

Her  Key* 

"  ARE  you  sure  this  is  the  right  key  ?"  The 
girl  on  the  steps  stopped  humming  the  Babbie 
Waltz  long  enough  to  answer  : 

"  Of  course ;  I  got  it  of  Miss  R and 

signed  my  name  all  regular  and  proper." 

"  Sure  you  didn't  make  a  mistake  and  bring 
your  gym.  key  ?  Smallest  door-key  I  ever  saw," 
he  growled,  as  he  lit  another  match  and  with 
wonderful  self-control  silently  bent  his  knees 
again  and  tried  once  more  to  fit  the  key  into 
the  gloomy  lock.  Ten  minutes  more ;  and 
then: 

"  Really,  Mr.  Van  Wycke,  haven't  you  got 
that  door  open  yet !  Is  this  the  first  time 


248  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

you've  ever  been  to  St.  Nancy's  Hall  ?  "  This 
was  superfluous,  considering  the  extremely  few 
nights  that  he  had  been  anywhere  else. 

"  Let  me  try  it,"  confidently.  He  silently 
handed  it  over. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  said,  "  Why,  what 
do  you  suppose  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  key  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Van  Wycke,  calmly. 

"  I  asked  Miss  R for  a  night  key ;  told 

her  where  I  was  going,  with  whom,  what  I  was 
going  to  wear,  and  all  the  topics  of  conversation, 
—  she  was  writing  a  speech  and  just  gave  me 
this,  and  I  hurried  out  without  looking  at  it.  I 
had  kept  you  waiting  so  long,  you  know." 

"  That's  nothing  very  unusual !  I'm  getting 

used  to  that.  Where  does  Miss  R keep 

the  latch-keys  ? " 

"  In  a  cunning  little  box  just  —  " 

«  Locked  ? " 

"Yes,  with  a  little  padlock." 

"  Then  she  gave  you  the  key  to  the  box  and 
thought  you  were  clever  enough  to  unlock  the 
cunning  little  box  yourself  to  get  your  key,  and 
you  —  " 

"And    I   just    took    the    padlock    key    and 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  249 

thought    it    was    the    door-key !     Isn't    that    a 
joke  ? "  and  she  laughed  as  if  it  really  was. 

"And  now,  my  dear  young  friend,  how  are 
you  going  to  get  in  ? " 

"  Mercy  !     How  am  I  ?" 

"  Shall  I  ring  ?  " 

tf  Who  would  answer  it  ?  Do  you  suppose 
the  maids  are  up  at  one  o'clock  at  night !  " 

"  Won't  some  of  the  girls  hear  you  and  come 
down?" 

"  They'd  think  it  was  the  rising  bell  and  sleep 
right  on."  How  warm  and  light  the  beautiful 
old  hall  looked  between  the  maroon  curtains 
across  the  square  plate  of  glass  in  the  big 
door. 

"  Well,  we  might  sit  down  on  the  steps 
awhile,"  said  Mr.  Van  Wycke,  cheerfully. 
"  Perhaps  some  one  will  come.  Besides,  this  is 
a  good  time  for  you  to  answer  that  question." 

She  was  gazing  interestedly  over  at  Haskell, 
looming  dark  against  the  windy  sky.  "  Did  you 
ever  notice  the  crosses  on  the  tops  of  all  these 
buildings  ?  "  she  asked,  innocently. 

"  Now,  Florence,  what's  the  use  of  waiting 
till  you're  graduated  ?  July  is  three  months 
off.  You  can  answer  me  now  just  as  well  as 


250  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

then,     We'll  play  this  is  July,  if  you  insist  on 
July." 

"  Oh,  no,  we  can't !  It's  against  the  Univer 
sity  rules,  and  besides,  I  —  I  think  I'm  taking 
cold." 

"  You  are !  We've  got  to  get  into  this  house  ! 
Would  it  scare  the  St.  Nancy  maidens  to  death 
if  I  should  throw  pebbles  against  their  win 
dows  ? " 

"  No,  because  there  isn't  any  one  on  the 
second  floor  this  vacation,  except  Barbara,  and 
she's  afraid  to  stay  alone  on  the  second." 

"  We  must  find  some  way.  You  can't  stay 
here  on  the  door-step  all  night,"  energetically. 

"No,  Miss  R wouldn't  approve." 

"  I  can't  take  you  to  the  Del  Prado  this  time 
of  night  —  really,  my  dear  girl,  this  is  serious." 

"We  might  put  a  ladder  against  the  fire 
escape,"  she  offered. 

"  I  forgot  to  bring  a  ladder  to-night.  Are  you 
cold  ?  Let  me  have  your  hands." 

"Or  wake  up  Kelly,"  she  continued.  "Oh, 
I  know  !  "  suddenly.  "  The  night  watch  !  He 
has  a  key ;  go  find  him  —  no  I'm  not  cold." 

"  Well,  I'll  go ;  but,  Florence,  you'll  tell  me 
before  July,  won't  you  ? " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  25! 

"  Let's  see ;  you're  a  graduate  student,  and  it 
isn't  against  the  rules  unless  they  are  under 
graduates."  He  made  a  sudden  motion.  "  No, 
no.  Go  find  the  watchman !  It's  nearly  two 
o'clock !  " 

FANNY  CRAWFORD  BURLING. 

University  of  Chicago    Weekly. 

In  the  Reading-room. 

Now  and  then,  in  the  noise  of  scraping  feet 
and  squeaking  chairs,  there  came  a  momentary 
silence  which  filled  the  whole  reading-room  ;  a 
silence  as  if  each  reader  were  looking  up  from 
his  book  and  wondering  at  the  stillness  of  every 
one  else.  Then  the  feet  of  some  late-comer 
pattered  on  the  iron  steps,  and  the  readers 
buried  their  heads  again  under  the  green 
lamps. 

Men  shifted  their  feet  on  the  cross-beam 
underneath  the  desks.  Near  me  a  nervous 
student,  writhing  with  the  weariness  of  sitting 
still,  dealt  a  shrewd  kick  to  the  shins  of  his 
invisible  opposite ;  above  the  yellow,  wooden 
partition  rose  two  heads  at  once,  —  one  aggres 
sive,  one  apologetic. 


252  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Books  began  to  be  shut  noisily ;  the  gaps  in 
the  bright  red  rows  on  the  shelves  began  to  be 
filled  up ;  down  the  stairs  men  went  plunging, 
two  steps  at  a  time ;  and  soon  the  attendant, 
who  went  about  snapping  with  metallic  clicks 
the  screws  of  the  electric  lights,  stopped  short, 
and  in  a  high,  sing-song  voice  called  out,  "  Li 
brary  closed ! " 

Harvard  Advocate. 

Seen  from  the  Road* 

THE  weather-beaten  cabin  stood  ten  or  twelve 
feet  from  the  driveway.  The  space  between 
was  an  arid  desert  on  a  small  scale,  and  was 
peopled  by  a  little  black  boy  of  about  three 
years,  who  was  playing  at  "  parlour  car  con 
ductor,"  I  imagined,  for  as  he  trotted  his  tiny 
black  feet  about,  he  would  call  out :  "  Par  car 
dis  way  !  Par  car  dis  way  !  "  Presently  a  large 
negress  appeared  in  the  doorway  with  her  arms 
akimbo  and  great  beads  of  perspiration  upon  her 
forehead.  Her  hair  was  bound  tightly  back 
with  a  red  bandanna,  knotted  on  the  top  of  her 
head,  while  round  gold  rings  glittered  in  her 
ears.  She  watched  the  boy  a  moment,  and 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  253 

then  said,  slowly :  "  Look  yere,  Ebennizer,  ef 
yo'  don'  wan'  to  sunstruck  yo'se'f,  yo'  better 
come  in  de  house  !  " 

CHARLES  OTIS  JUDKINS. 

Wesley  an  Literary  Monthly. 

The  Love  of  Lop-Ear. 

TOMAS  and  Sesena  had  lost  a  burro.  For  a 
week  the  swarthy  Chollos  had  followed  burro 
tracks  through  the  dense  brush,  but  without 
finding  the  missing  Lop-Ear. 

Every  one  within  ten  miles  of  the  Juarez 
tienda  knew  that  the  travellers  were  looking 
for  "one  bnrra  vieja,  very  thin,  very  sore- 
backed,  one  ear  lopping  over,  very  close 
hobbled." 

At  last  word  came  that  a  vaquero  had  seen 
their  burro  fourteen  miles  to  the  south.  "  Pen- 
dejo  animal!"  exclaimed  Tomas,  "all  times 
does  that  wife  of  the  devil  walk,  walk,  walk, 
back  for  Santa  Rosalia." 

Before  sun-up  the  next  morning  the  travellers 
were  on  their  way  down  the  valley,  and  dusk 
was  falling  when  they  returned,  this  time  driv 
ing  the  miserable  little  animal  before  them. 


254  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Poor,  wretched  Lop-Ear !  Of  all  the  victims  of 
Mexican  cruelty  your  lot  is  the  hardest.  But 
the  greasy  loungers  hanging  around  the  tienda 
had  nothing  but  laughter  and  jokes  for  the 
misery  of  the  little  beast  that  shambled  by, 
never  even  wincing  when  Tomas  prodded  her 
bleeding  flanks  or  when  Sesena's  club  fell  on 
her  protruding  hip-bones. 

Tomas,  who  presently  came  back  for  some 
panoche,  said  to  the  storekeeper  in  jerky,  excita 
ble  Spanish : 

"  We  come  from  Santa  Rosalia,  nine  hundred 
miles  to  the  south.  That  child  of  evil  had  one 
colt  too  young  to  travel,  so  we  left  him  behind. 
Now  all  the  time  she  wants  to  go  back.  We 
hobble  her  when  we  stop  to  make  coffee,  and 
she  starts  back  for  Santa  Rosalia.  We  tie  her 
up,  and  she  eats  nothing,  but  stands  at  the  end 
of  her  riata  and  looks  with  her  one  ear,  back 
toward  Santa  Rosalia.  Her  hobbles  wear  her 
ankles  to  the  blood,  but  when  we  camp  at  the 
day's  end,  she  walk,  walk,  walk  all  night  for 
Santa  Rosalia,"  and  without  waiting  for  the 
polite  condolence  of  the  tiendero,  he  took  his 
package  and  hurried  on  after  Sesena. 

In  the  morning  they  were  up  betimes,  and 


CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE  255 

making  ready  to  continue  their  journey.  Lop- 
Ear  cringed  nearly  to  the  ground  when  they 
placed  the  heavy  cargo,  on  her  festering  back, 
and  then,  with  pitiful  apathy,  stood  limply  while 
her  masters  threw  all  their  strength  into  tighten 
ing  the  lash-ropes.  With  short,  weak  steps, 
she  followed  the  jack  along  the  trail  that  crossed 
the  narrow,  pine-clad  ridge  and  zigzagged  down 
the  abrupt  mountainside  to  the  level  of  the 
cactus  desert  that  spread  out  below. 

Every  burro  is  a  marvel  of  vitality,  but  even 
burro-vitality  has  a  limit,  and  the  jump-offs, 
cat-steps,  and  sliding  places  of  that  precipitous 
trail  tried  the  failing  powers  of  the  worn-out 
animal  to  their  utmost.  Lop-Ear  was  barely 
able  to  stagger  along  when  at  last  she  made  her 
way  through  the  iron-woods  to  the  water-hole 
at  the  edge  of  the  desert. 

Tomas*  looked  up  at  the  rugged  mountain  as 
he  loosened  her  pack-ropes,  and  said  with  a 
satisfied  grin  : 

"  I  guess  this  night  Lop-Ear  won't  start  back 
for  Santa  Rosalia." 

"  Quien  sabe  ? "  replied  his  companion. 
"You'd  better  hobble  her,  anyway." 

Night  soon  fell,  and  the  Mexicans,  too  tired 


256  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

to  enjoy  their  after-supper  cigarettes,  spread 
their  blankets  on  the  warm  sand  and  fell 
asleep. 

The  sun  was  high  over  the  desert  when  Sesena 
awoke,  and  it  was  not  till  he  had  made  a  fire 
and  mixed  the  flour  for  the  tortillas  that  Tomas 
arose  and  went  out  after  the  burros. 

In  a  short  time  he  returned  driving  the  jack,  — 
Lop-Ear  was  not  to  be  found. 

After  considerable  talking  and  shoulder-shrug 
ging,  the  exasperated  men  ate  a  hasty  breakfast 
and  started  out  to  search  for  the  missing  animal. 
Presently  Tomas  found  her  tracks. 

"  Aah-oo-oo-aah,"  he  yodled. 

"  Aah-oo-oo-aah,"  answered  Sesena,  and  was 
soon  at  his  companion's  side.  There  on  the 
smooth,  white  sand  he  saw  where  Lop-Ear,  with 
her  little  two-inch  steps,  had  started  back  for 
Santa  Rosalia. 

"She  can't  be  up  there,"  he  said,  staring 
blankly  at  the  rugged  mountainside. 

"  There  are  her  tracks,"  replied  Tomas. 

Yes ;  there  were  her  tracks,  and  a  few  yards 
up  the  hill  lay  the  rawhide  thong  they  had  tied 
around  her  ankles.  Clotted  hair  on  the  jagged 
rocks  showed  where  she  had  fallen  and  had 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  257 

struggled  out  of  her  hobbles.     Well,  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  follow  her. 

Up,  up  they  clambered.  Half-way  to  the  top 
they  found  blood-soaked  hairs  on  the  loose  stones 
at  the  bottom  of  a  slide. 

"Wife  of  the  devil!"  muttered  Tomas. 
"  Look  where  she  fell." 

The  shadows  of  the  mountain  were  stretching 
far  out  across  the  desert,  and  the  Mexicans  had 
worked  their  way  nearly  to  the  top  of  the 
range.  They  were  hurrying  now,  for  they 
were  afraid  that  Lop-Ear  would  gain  the  dense 
underbrush  of  the  plateau.  Suddenly  they 
heard  a  clatter  among  some  jagged  ledges  a 
half-mile  above. 

"  Hurry,  or  we  lose  her,"  panted  Sesena,  and 
the  men  redoubled  their  efforts.  At  last  the 
beetling  crags  were  gained.  Then  at  a  sudden 
turn  in  the  trail  they  came  upon  Lop-Ear. 
There,  where  she  had  fallen  back  from  a  sharp 
flight  of  cat-steps,  lay  the  little  mother ;  her 
head  sunk  between  the  poor  maimed  legs  that 
were  still  gathered  as  though  about  to  rise  and 
struggle  on  toward  the  foal  at  Santa  Rosalia. 

H.  F.   COOLIDGE. 

Stanford  Sequoia. 


258  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 


How  I  Recovered* 

MONDAY  morning  I  caught  a  cold.  Tuesday 
morning  I  went  to  a  homoeopath.  He  looked  at 
my  tongue  and  gave  me  some  Purity  Kisses. 
Wednesday  morning  I  went  to  a  surgeon.  He 
tapped  my  chest,  examined  my  bowels  by  means 
of  the  X-ray,  gave  me  a  drink  made  of  checker- 
berry  and  assafcetida,  and  told  me  to  boil  my 
feet  in  hot  water.  Thursday  I  went  to  an  allo 
path.  He  felt  of  my  pulse  and  said,  "  My  son, 
you  have  got  whooping-cough ;  don't  go  near 
any  babies."  But  I  got  no  better.  Friday  I 
left  off  smoking.  Now  I  am  all  right. 

Harvard  Advocate. 

A  Filibustering  Father. 

"  No,"  said  the  captain,  in  his  slow  "  down- 
east"  drawl,  "sence  mother  died,  father  don't 
care  for  nothing  but  filibustering.  There's  a 
pile  of  money  in  it,  too." 

We  were  beating  down  the  lower  bay  aboard 
a  small  cutter.  The  rest  of  the  party  were 
sitting  forward,  but  I  had  stayed  aft  to  talk  to 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  259 

the  captain,  a  long  acquaintance  with  him  having 
taught  me  that  he  never  failed  to  be  a  delightful 
companion. 

"  Seems  a  kinder  pity,"  he  went  on,  pres 
ently  ;  "  father'd  be  a  rich  man  now,  if  he  didn't 
drink  up  every  cent  he  made." 

I  admitted  that  this  was  to  be  regretted. 

"  He  most  got  ketched  last  winter,"  the  cap 
tain  continued,  a  faint  smile  illuminating  his 
usually  expressionless  countenance.  "  They 
fitted  out  a  vessel  up  to  Brooklyn.  Guess  I 
know  the  firm  that  done  it,  too.  Folks  got 
kinder  suspicious  when  they  see  father  waiting 
round,  and  began  to  ask  where  she  was  a-going, 
so  father,  he  jest  made  up  his  mind  that  he'd 
meet  her  down  to  Baltimore,  where  they  was 
a-going  to  take  the  ammunition  aboard.  That 
was  all  right  enough.  Father  he  went  down 
there  and  waited  until  she  come  into  the  har 
bour  one  evening ;  then  he  was  a-going  to  get 
the  stuff  on  her  quick,  and  get  away  before 
morning.  Well,  one  way  or  another,  the  Span 
ish  consul  got  wind  of  it,  and  when  father  went 
down  to  the  dock  about  twelve  o'clock  one 
night,  he  found  two  men  there,  with  orders  not 
to  let  any  one  lay  a  finger  to  the  ammunition, 


26O  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

and  to  arrest  any  one  who  tried  it.  They  was 
a-going  to  hold  her  till  they  found  out  more 
about  her.  That  didn't  suit  father.  There's 
some  men  would  have  gone  back  to  New  York. 
Filibustering,  you  get  half  your  money  when 
you  undertake  the  job,  and  half  when  you 
deliver  your  cargo.  Some  men  would  have 
been  content  with  the  half  of  the  money,  but 
father  ain't  that  sort.  He  sat  and  talked  with 
them  two  for  awhile,  then  he  jest  hired  a  row- 
boat,  and  rowed  out  to  the  vessel,  and  brought 
back  four  of  the  crew.  They  was  all  big  men, 
and  father  he  told  them  on  the  way  how  to  gag 
a  man  before  he  gets  a  chance  to  holler,  though 
I  reckon  they  knew  it  before  he  told  them.  He 
brought  them  up  to  the  men  who  was  on  the 
dock,  and  they  all  sat  around  on  them  barr'ls  as 
sociable  as  you  please.  After  awhile  father  he 
feels  in  his  pockets  and  brings  out  a  couple  of 
ten-dollar  bills. 

"  <  Say,'  says  he,  '  there's  a  dock  about  a  mile 
away  from  here,  and  if  you  two  was  to  go  and 
watch  there  you'd  have  less  work  and  make 
more  money.' 

"They  said  they  guessed  they'd  stay  where 
they  was,  and  they  began  to  get  ugly,  so  father 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  26 1 

jest  passed  the  word  to  his  four  men,  and  I 
don't  rightly  know  how  they  done  it,  but  the 
next  morning  that  boat  and  that  ammunition 
and  them  two  men,  they  was  all  on  their  way  to 
Cuba.  Anyway,  that's  what  father  says,  but  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  men  never  got 
much  farther  than  the  bottom  of  the  harbour. 
Father's  real  self-willed  when  you  cross  him." 

ALICE  DUER. 
Columbia  Literary  Monthly. 

Duets. 

Two  met  on  a  highway.  "  Go  no  farther  !  " 
said  one. 

"  Know  you  not  who  I  am  ? "  said  the  other. 
"  I  go  where  I  list ;  I  am  Love." 

"  You  can  go  no  farther,"  said  the  first.  "  I 
am  Death." 

"  I  will  grant  you  two  desires,"  said  Life  to 
the  youth.  "  What  would  you  ? " 

"I  am  blind,"  said  the  youth.  "Open  my 
eyes."  And  Life  did  so. 

"  Now  what  is  the  other  wash  ? "  asked  Life. 

"  Make  me  blind  again,"  answered  the  youth. 


262  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"I  have  found  the  secret  of  the  universe," 
said  one. 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  the  other. 
"But  you  are  only  a  lover,"  said  the  first. 
"  And  you  are  only  a  scientist,"  answered  the 
second. 

ARTHUR  LAWSON  GOODWILLIE. 

Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

Chapel 

THE  great  bell  clangs  out  through  the  morning 
air,  sending  its  summons  over  the  white-crusted 
campus.  The  slippery  walks  are  crowded  with 
black  figures  moving  toward  Taylor  Hall,  single, 
in  groups  of  twos  and  threes,  wrapped  close  with 
shawls  and  hoods,  half  of  them  umbrellaless. 
Voices  fall  as  they  enter,  and  amid  friendly  jost 
ling  around  the  bulletin-board  and  in  the  cloak 
room,  whispered  greetings  are  exchanged.  Then 
up-stairs  to  the  silent  chapel,  with  its  white 
windows  made  whiter  by  the  frost.  The  black 
mortar-boards  nod  their  tassels  in  cheery  greet 
ing  ;  subdued  talk  between  neighbours  fills  the 
room  with  a  low  hum.  A  sudden  hush  ;  the 
talk  stops ;  the  heads  are  still  \  a  moment's 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  263 

pause,  and  the  service  has  begun.  All  are  to 
gether  for  once  in  the  day,  with  no  distinction 
of  class  or  grade.  All  are  alike  children,  and 
children  of  Bryn  Mawr.  At  the  close  of  the 
prayer  another  moment's  silence.  Then  a  sud 
den  movement.  The  bell  clangs  out  again.  A 
general  rush  to  classes,  to  the  office,  to  one's 
room.  The  day  has  begun. 

L.  s.  B. 
The  Bryn  Mawr  Lantern. 

A  Bargain* 

THE  painter's  wife  had  come  all  the  way  up 
to  the  studio  ;  her  soft  hair  and  quiet  unobtru 
sive  little  face  looked  pale  and  monotonous  in 
the  gray  north  light  from  above.  The  painter 
softened  his  brushes  in  a  tin  of  turpentine,  and 
laid  them  away.  He  glanced  across  the  big 
bare  room  at  the  slender  figure  and  raised  his 
eyebrows. 

"  I  came  up  to  get  you,  Jim  —  if  —  if  you  are 
coming  home  to  supper,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  took  that  trouble,"  he  an 
swered,  "  I'm  dining  out.  I  thought  I  told 
you." 


264  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  I  know,  Jim,  but  I  was  so  lonesome.  I  read 
till  I  was  tired,  —  I  was  reading  '  Tess,'  you  know, 

—  and  I  got  nervous  and  fidgety,  and  I  went  to 
see  Mrs.  Taylor  on  the  floor  below,  and  —  and 

—  I  wondered  whether  you  wouldn't  have  sup 
per  home  to-night.     You  haven't  for  four  days. 
Why,   Jimmy,  your   model   sees   more   of   you 
than  I." 

"  You  have  given  yourself  rather  a  needless 
journey,  then,  because  I  am  promised  for  this 
evening.  I'm  glad  you  satisfied  your  suspicions, 
though.  I  sent  her  home  an  hour  ago  —  if  you 
care  to  take  my  word,  that  is." 

"  Oh,  oh !  How  can  you  say  such  nasty 
things !  I  only  wanted  to  have  you  home  this 
one  evening.  You  aren't  very  good  to  me  now, 
Jim,  I  think.  And  I  have  such  a  nice  hot  sup 
per,  and  that  salad  you  like.  You  used  to 
say  —  " 

"  Spare  us  the  description,  please,  Nellie.  I 
am  really  very  sorry."  He  took  off  his  working 
blouse.  "  There's  nothing  else,  is  there  ?  If 
you'll  excuse  me,  I  will  clean  up." 

"  I'm  going  in  a  minute,  Jim.  I  didn't  mean 
to  interrupt  you.  I  am  afraid  I  spoiled  a  sitting 
yesterday,  coming  in.  No,  don't  bother  to  com< 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  265 

with  me.  I  know  the  stairs.  Good-bye."  She 
closed  her  lips  firmly,  and  went  carefully  down 
the  flight  of  narrow  stairs  into  the  street 
crowded  with  home-going  shop  people. 

Three  months  later  she  went  away  with 
another  man,  who  said  he  cared  for  her.  He 
died,  it  seems,  and  no  one  has  heard  of  her 
since.  However,  such  pictures  as  Jimmy's 
cannot  be  had  for  nothing.  For  my  part,  since 
I  have  seen  "The  Harvesters,"  and  that  study 
of  a  "  Girl  in  Gray,"  and  "  The  Greatest  of  These 
is  Charity,"  —  the  last  and  finest  of  all  (I  saw 
that  at  the  Metropolitan  with  its  salon  number 
fresh  in  the  corner),  —  I  can  only  think  the  world 
had  all  the  best  of  the  bargain. 

JOHN  SAUNDERS  OAKMAN. 

Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

A  Comedy* 

IT  was  near  the  end  of  the  evening,  and  in 
the  big  ballroom  was  to  be  observed  that  semi- 
demoralisation  that  comes  with  the  small  hours, 
when  one's  cotillon  partner  is  off  somewhere 
talking  to  some  one  else  and  some  other  person 
is  talking  to  you.  A  rollicking  polka  was  being 


266      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

played  and  flushed  faces  and  merry  tongues 
told  plainly  that  hearts  were  light  as  well  as 
feet.  A  dark-eyed  girl  with  a  bewitching 
knot  of  red  velvet  in  her  hair,  and  a  big 
bunch  of  violets  at  her  waist,  was  talking 
earnestly  to  a  rather  tall  young  man,  irre 
proachably  dressed  and  remarkably  depressed 
in  appearance.  His  white-gloved  hands  toyed 
nervously  with  his  watch  charm,  and  his  lips 
were  compressed  in  anything  but  an  amiable 
manner. 

"  And  so  our  pretty  day-dream  topples  over," 
said  the  girl,  trying  to  laugh  a  little  as  she 
spoke.  Her  smile  found  no  answer  in  her  com 
panion's  face. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  like  all  that  is  worth 
having  in  life,  it  topples  over  when  you  are 
almost  sure  of  it.  What  a  dog's  existence  it  is, 
to  be  sure." 

"  Ah,  no,"  said  the  girl,  leaning  forward,  "  do 
not  say  that.  She  is  a  charming  girl.  You 
will  be  happy  —  " 

"  Happy?"  he  echoed,  bitterly;  "I  might 
have  been  happy  with  you,  but  not  with  her. 
I  thought  I  loved  her,  but  I  found  it  was  like 
all  thought, —  fleeting.  Oh,"  he  added,  more 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  267 

vehemently,  "it  cannot  be.  There  must  be 
some  way  out  of  it.  I  love  you  — 

"  Hush  !  "  she  exclaimed,  softly.  A  girl  in 
white  was  passing ;  a  girl  with  great  hazel  eyes 
and  a  superb  figure. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  went  on,  "  and  you  alone. 
Can't  we  do  something  ?  " 

"No,"  she  replied,  "we  can't.  You  would 
not  want  to  throw  her  over,  and  you  know  it. 
It  is  unworthy  of  you.  Your  engagement  —  " 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,"  he  broke  in,  fretfully,  "I 
know,  I  know.  You  are  right,  as  you  always 
are.  I  must  keep  my  word.  There  are  too 
many  broken  engagements  nowadays." 

"When  is  the  marriage  ?"  she  asked,  softly. 

"  Easter  Monday,"  said  the  man.  "  You 
must  come,  you  know." 

"  Like  a  lamb  at  the  altar,"  she  answered. 

A  moment  afterward  she  was  whirled  away 
by  a  pale  young  man  with  eye-glasses  and  a 
chronic  smile. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  loved  me,"  said  the  girl 
with  hazel  eyes  to  her  companion,  "  I  don't 
think  I  would  ever  have  contracted  this  engage 
ment." 


268  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Break  it,  then,  break  it,"  replied  he,  eagerly. 
"  Must  all  our  lives  be  ruined  because  you  think 
you  must  keep  your  word  and  marry  this  man  ? 
Perhaps  he  does  not  love  you.  Who  knows  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  tempt  me  in  this  way  ? "  she 
answered,  half  angrily.  "  Don't  you  suppose  I 
know  that  he  loves  me,  and  knowing  it,  would 
you  have  me  break  the  engagement  and  his 
heart  at  the  same  time?  I  tell  you  I  must 
marry  him,  and  you  must  be  content  to  know 
that  you  have  my  love  and  that  I  would  marry 
you  if  I  could." 

It  was  a  superb  wedding,  an  irreproachable 
display  of  palms,  a  wedding-march  by  a  famous 
organist,  and  a  bishop  to  marry  them.  The 
bridegroom  was  not  in  the  least  embarrassed, 
and  the  bride's  gown  was  perfection.  What 
more  would  you  have  ?  As  the  happy  couple 
turned  to  come  down  the  aisle  the  groom  felt 
almost  contented.  Had  he  not  sacrificed  him 
self  for  another  ;  given  up  his  own  best  longings 
to  keep  his  faith  with  the  girl  at  his  side  ? 
There  was  a  dark-eyed  girl  in  the  tenth  pew 
who  looked  at  him  very  curiously,  and  for  the 
first  time  he  seemed  a  trifle  disconcerted. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  269 

However,  that  is  transitory.  He  has  accom 
plished  the  sacrifice  of  his  life.  Could  anything 
be  more  satisfactory  ? 

As  for  the  bride,  she  is  very  pale.  Women 
unfortunately  cannot  wholly  conceal  their  feel 
ings.  But  she  smiles,  and  deep  down  in  her 
heart  is  a  feeling  of  pride  at  her  own  unselfish 
ness.  Of  course  it's  hard,  but  at  the  same  time 
it's  heroic,  and  that  little  spark  of  self -adoration 
which  is  inherent  in  the  feminine  breast  blazed 
up  and  sparkled  merrily.  Alas,  he  —  neither  of 
the  hes,  in  fact  —  would  ever  know  what  she  had 
done  for  him.  There  he  was,  half-way  down  the 
aisle.  The  bride  trembled  a  little  and  looked 
down. 

And  so  the  church  door  closed  behind  them, 
and  the  two  martyrs  had  taken  the  first  step  in 
married  life.  The  world  said  it  was  a  love 
match,  and  very  successful,  and  the  conclusion 
is  that  there  is  nothing  like  self-sacrifice, 
after  all. 

GUY  WETMORE  CARRYL. 
Columbia  Literary  Monthly. 


270  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 


From  the  Heights* 

THEY  were  sitting  side  by  side  upon  the 
Heights,  where  the  spring  sunshine,  sifting 
through  the  leaves,  lay  in  golden  spots  on  the 
grass.  The  air  was  full  of  spring  sounds,  a 
soft,  indefinite  harmony,  —  the  singing  of  hylas 
in  the  ponds,  the  twittering  of  birds,  and  the 
faint  snapping  sound  that  the  pine-boughs  make 
when  the  tiny  needles  burst  through  the 
winter  sheath.  The  grass  was  powdered  with 
spring-beauties.  Far  below  them  lay  the  city, 
with  here  and  there  a  broad  banner  of  smoke 
rising  and  stretching  away  over  the  intense  blue 
of  the  sky.  Beyond,  a  line  of  deeper  blue 
revealed  the  lake. 

They  had  not  spoken  for  a  long  time.  The 
girl's  eyes  rested  on  the  distant  horizon,  and 
there  was  a  look  in  their  gray  depths  of  intens- 
est  happiness,  —  happiness  so  intense  as  to  be 
almost  pain.  His  eyes  were  on  her  face.  He 
was  thinking  how  beautiful  she  was  with  the 
Madonna  look  in  her  eyes  and  the  soft  tendrils 
of  her  brown  hair  lightly  touching  her  forehead. 
She  seemed  a  long  way  from  him,  and  he  won- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  271 

dered  whether  he  loved  her.  And  she,  with  her 
eyes  on  the  far  horizon,  where  now  and  then  a 
sail  shone  white  in  the  sunshine,  she  was  think 
ing  of  him.  She  heard  the  birds  around  her ; 
she  smelled  the  fragrance  of  springing  grass 
and  bursting  buds  ;  she  felt  the  wonder  of  it  all, 
but  all  the  sensations  of  her  soul  were  blended 
into  one  feeling  of  ineffable  joy. 

A  woodpecker  began  to  drum  loudly  on  a 
tree  near  by,  and  half  startled,  the  girl  turned 
and  met  the  man's  eyes.  It  was  only  an  instant 
that  they  looked  at  each  other,  but  it  seemed  a 
long  time  to  him  before  she  dropped  her  eyes 
from  his  face.  He  was  almost  certain  now 
that  he  loved  her,  and  she  —  was  realising  that 
he  did  not. 

The  breeze,  catching  a  fold  of  lace,  blew  it 
across  her  throat.  The  man  leaned  over  her 
and  laid  his  hand  on  hers,  very  gently.  She 
shivered  a  little.  "  Come,  let  us  go  home,"  she 
said.  And  rising,  they  went  down  from  the 
Heights  together. 

MARIAN  WARNER  WILDMAN. 

College  Folio. 


272  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 


The  Ways  of  Woman. 

"  WHY  is  it  always  so  hot  when  we  want  to 
play  tennis  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Patty, 
"  but  it  is,  isn't  it  ? " 

I  assented.  Patty  leaned  back  in  the  wicker 
chair  and  fanned  herself  with  her  sailor-hat. 
Her  cheeks  were  pink  with  exertion,  and  the 
saucy  curls  about  her  forehead  were  damp  and 
bedraggled.  We  had  just  been  partners  in  a 
set  of  doubles  and  had  been  badly  beaten. 
Patty  makes  up  in  grace  and  a  pretty  appear 
ance  what  she  lacks  in  efficiency  as  a  player. 

" There's  a  dance  to-night,"  I  resumed; 
" shall  I  take  you  to  it?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Patty,  with  a  great 
show  of  indifference.  "  I  half  promised  to  go 
with  Tom,  and  I  really  ought,  you  know."  She 
watched  me  with  a  malicious  smile. 

I  don't  think  I  ever  hated  Tom  quite  as  much 
as  I  did  then. 

"Why,  you  said  a  while  ago  that  you  would 
never  go  to  another  with  him,  because  he  dances 
so  poorly,"  I  remonstrated. 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  273 

"Really,"  said  Patty,  "I  don't  see  that  it 
matters  if  I  don't  go  everywhere  with  you.  I 
have  concluded  to  go  with  Tom  to-night,"  she 
added,  decidedly. 

I  looked  across  the  court,  then  an  idea  struck 
me. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  I  said,  "but  I  must  leave 
you  for  a  few  moments.  I  must  speak  with 
Miss  Henry,"  and  I  started  to  go. 

Patty  looked  up  in  a  startled  way. 

"  You're  not  going  to  ask  her,  are  you  ?  "  she 
queried. 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  said,  "  she's  such  a  fine  dancer, 
and  so  nice,  you  know." 

"But  she's  got  red  hair,"  said  Patty,  as  if 
that  possession  were  a  crime. 

"  Not  red,  auburn,"  I  corrected,  "and  it's  very 
pretty,  too."  I  looked  attentively  across  at  the 
young  lady  in  question. 

"And  she  talks  so  loud.  You're  surely  not 
going  to  ask  her  ? "  Patty  seemed  to  be  taking 
it  quite  to  heart.  "  \Yhy  don't  you  let  Tom 
take  her  ?  He  usually  does." 

"  But  Tom's  going  to  take  you,"  the  game 
was  going  my  way,  "and  what  would  I 
do  ? " 


274  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Patty  looked  confused.  "  Why,  you  could 
take  me." 

"You're  very  good,"  said  I,  "but  Miss 
Henry  —  " 

"I'll  tell  Tom  about  it,"  rejoined  Patty. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  walk  to  the  house  with 
me  ? " 

We  rose  and  went  slowly  across  the  lawn  to 
the  piazza..  Patty  paused  at  the  door.  "And 
I'll  be  ready  at  eight,"  she  said. 

"Very  well,"  I  answered,  "but  since  I  have 
been  so  good,  don't  you  think  I  deserve  a 
reward  ? "  I  looked  at  her  meaningly. 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  said  Patty,  and  closed  the 
door  in  my  face. 

SHERMAN  ROBERTS  MOULTON. 

Dartmouth  Literary  Monthly. 

A  Stray  Sympathy. 

A  THRONG  of  busy  shoppers  pushed  and 
jostled  one  another  good-naturedly,  as  they 
passed  and  repassed  on  Boylston  Street.  It 
was  near  Christmas  time,  as  any  one  might 
know  from  the  shop  windows  and  the  bundles 
and  the  good  nature  which  pervaded  the  air. 


CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  275 

On  the  sidewalk  stood  a  small  newsboy,  his 
face  distorted  by  the  ridiculously  pathetic  weep 
ing  of  childhood,  his  cheeks  streaked  with  dirt 
and  tears,  the  little  hands  which  vainly  offered 
the  papers  to  each  passer-by,  blue  with  cold. 
An  impostor,  of  course,  as  every  one  accosted 
by  the  tearful  voice  saw  at  a  glance.  But  the 
face  of  the  little  lad  crying,  on  the  Boston 
streets,  haunted  one  shopper  for  days.  An 
impostor  ?  Probably,  but  —  it  was  Christmas 
time.  M.  B.  M. 

Wellesley  Magazine. 

My  Freshman. 

To  give  up  the  joys  of  a  quiet  evening  in 
company  with  a  few  kindred  spirits,  a  box  of 
Huyler's,  and  a  big,  delicious  cake,  and  at  the 
decree  of  a  despotic  Sophomore  to  invite  a  Fresh 
man  to  the  Sophomore  reception,  the  night  be 
fore  the  event  was  to  take  place ;  the  thought 
was  maddening  !  Poor  thing  !  She  had  proba 
bly  decided  long  before  that  she  was  not  to  be 
invited,  and  was  doubtless  quite  reconciled  to  the 
fact.  How  disgusted  she  would  be  to  find  that 
she  had  been  allotted  to  an  unsympathetic  Junior  ! 


276  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

Number  ten  was  dark,  but  I  knocked  and 
waited  a  moment ;  a  match  was  scratched,  then 
the  door  opened. 

A  large  girl  with  red  hair,  and  eyes  red,  too, 
from  homesick  tears,  I  imagined,  confronted 
me.  "  Is  this  Miss  St.  Clair  ? "  I  asked.  "  Yes, 
ma'am,"  she  answered.  I  had  expected  to  wait 
so  many  years  before  being  called  "ma'am," 
that  I  forgot  what  I  had  planned  to  say  next, 
and  asked,  abruptly  :  "  Would  you  like  to  go  to 
the  Sophomore  reception  with  me  ? "  "  Yes, 
ma'am,"  came  the  answer  again.  This  was 
very  embarrassing,  and  if  the  Freshman  had 
not  broken  the  spell  by  asking  me  into  her 
room,  I  think  that  I  should  have  risked  the 
wrath  of  the  Sophomore,  and  added,  "Well,  I 
am  very  sorry,  but  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  ask 
you  to  go  with  me." 

But  after  I  had  gone  into  her  room,  and  told 
her  all  I  knew  about  the  reception,  explaining 
when  I  would  call  for  her,  what  my  name  was, 
and  a  few  other  necessary  things,  I  felt  very 
well  acquainted.  Yet  when  I  was  walking  home, 
I  could  not  think  of  a  word  she  had  said,  except 
ing,  "  No,  ma'am  "  and  "  Yes,  ma'am."  Oh, 
yes !  Just  as  I  was  saying  good  night,  she 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  277 

looked  up  in  a  most  pathetic  way  and  said, 
"  You  are  the  very  first  Sophomore  to  call  on 
me."  And  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  too  new  a 
Junior  not  to  have  that  a  blow  to  my  pride. 

My  touching  tales  of  the  homesick  Freshman 
filled  her  programme  very  easily,  and  I  reserved 
only  the  last  two  dances  for  myself.  When  the 
time  for  those  came,  I  asked,  "  Shall  we  dance  ?  " 
"  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  answer,  and  then  she  added, 
in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "  This  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  tried  to  dance  in  my  life,  and  I  can  dance 
real  well  now,  it  is  so  easy."  My  adventures 
during  that  dance  I  am  too  kind-hearted  to 
relate.  While  pinning  up  my  skirt  and  attempt 
ing  to  soothe  my  ruffled  feelings,  I  suggested 
that  we  sit  out  the  next  dance  and  talk. 

It  must  have  been  near  the  end  of  the  dance, 
when  it  suddenly  dawned  upon  me  that  I  had 
been  doing  all  the  talking,  and  it  seemed  only 
fair  for  her  to  begin,  so  I  asked  her  about  her 
plans  for  Mountain  Day. 

"  You  are  anticipating  a  perfectly  delightful 
time  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Are  you  going  far  ?  " 

"Oh,  no." 


278  CAP    AND   GOWN    IN    PROSE 

"  Are  you  going  with  a  large  party  ? " 

"Oh,  no." 

"  Where  have  you  planned  to  go  ?  " 

"Nowhere." 

This  was  discouraging.  A  Freshman  who 
could  neither  dance  nor  talk.  I  wondered  what 
she  could  do.  It  was  not  until  yesterday  that  I 
discovered.  Walking  home  from  chapel  behind 
two  Freshmen,  I  overheard  the  following  con 
versation  : 

"  Isn't  Jessemine  St.  Clair  a  prod  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so !  She's  the  best 
basket-ball  player  in  the  Freshman  Class,  and 
you  ought  to  see  her  vault  the  horse." 

"  Who  took  her  to  the  reception  ? " 

"Oh,  some  muff  from  the  Junior  Class,  so 
Jessemine  said." 

« Isn't  she  droll  ?  " 

E.    S.    S. 

Smith  College  Monthly 

Founded  on  Fact. 

THE  Woman  of  the  World  sat  at  the  piano. 
The  Boy  stood  beside  her,  bending  down  to  her. 
The  Woman  of  the  World  was  playing  Schu- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  279 

mann.  Her  throat  and  arms  gleamed  like 
warm  marble  in  the  soft  candlelight,  and  the 
effect  against  the  shadow  was  very  lovely.  Pos 
sibly  the  Woman  of  the  World  knew  this.  At 
any  rate,  she  oughtn't  to  have  allowed  the  Boy 
to  stand  there.  Being  a  woman,  she  continued 
to  allow  him,  but  for  a  similar  reason  she  com 
promised  with  her  conscience  and  changed 
abruptly  from  the  Schumann  to  a  passionless, 
jingling  two-step.  The  sacrifice  was  heroic. 

"Why  do  you  play  that  thing?"  asked  the 
Boy. 

The  Woman  of  the  \Vorld  made  some  answer. 
She  wished  she  had  no  conscience  and  did  not 
really  like  the  Boy.  He  was  big  and  muscular, 
with  a  face  suggestive  of  all  the  cardinal  virtues 
and  Pear's  soap.  Lately  there  had  come  into 
his  eyes  a  look  that  made  her  a  little  sorry. 
For  she  liked  him,  as  has  been  said  previously. 
The  blow  came  before  she  had  a  chance  to 
avert  it. 

"  Claudia,"  the  Boy  said,  —  it  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  called  her  by  her  Christian  name, 
and  he  said  it  with  a  bashful  tenderness,  —  "I 
love  you ;  will  you  marry  me  ? "  the  Boy  bent 
very  low,  almost  touching  her  hair  with  his  lips. 


280  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

There  is  always  one  subject  that  a  man  may 
be  sure  will  interest  a  woman.  There  is  always 
one  statement  that  will  not  grow  commonplace 
through  frequent  repetition.  The  love  scenes 
are  really  the  only  ones  in  the  comedy  of  life  that 
most  women  enjoy  acting  for  their  own  sake. 

But  Claudia  liked  the  Boy ;  in  fact,  she  liked 
him  so  well  that  she  would  have  preferred  put 
ting  her  face  on  the  cold  white  keys  and  crying  ; 
women  are  nothing  if  not  illogical.  Instead  of 
such  a  bit  of  melodramatic  bad  taste,  she  laughed 
softly  without  looking  up.  "  How  absurd  !  "  she 
said,  as  if  he  had  made  quite  a  clever  remark  — 
for  a  boy. 

"My  dear  child,"  her  tone  was  motherly,  "I 
am  ages  older  than  you,  —  quite  five  years.  You 
would  never  cease  regretting  that  you  had  mar 
ried  me.  I  should  be  old  and  worn  before  you 
were  in  your  prime.  No,  you  must  find  some 
one  else,  who  will  adore  you  and  make  you  per 
fectly  happy,  and  I  will  come  to  see  you  to  lend 
the  dignity  of  age  to  your  marriage." 

"You  are  heartless,"  said  the  Boy  between 
his  teeth. 

"  Am  I  ?  Well,  I  don't  agree  with  you,  and 
in  a  year  you  and  she  will  thank  me." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  28 1 

"  I  can  never  love  any  one  else." 

"  Quite  the  conventional  remark  under  the 
circumstances.  I  should  have  felt  quite  hurt 
had  you  not  said  it.  But  it's  nonsense  all  the 
same.  Besides,  I  care  for  —  some  one  else." 

She  told  the  lie  with  no  apparent  struggle. 

He  left  her  there  in  the  shadow,  still  playing 
the  noisy,  blatantly  cheerful  two-step.  He  went 
too  quickly  to  hear  the  music  stop,  with  a  sud 
den  crash,  and  to  see  her  turn  with  wide-stretched 
arms,  with  her  eyes  like  dewy  stars  shining 
through  her  tears.  And  perhaps  it  was  well 
for  him  that  he  did  not. 

ARTHUR  KETCHUM. 
Williams  Literary  Monthly. 

The  Decision  of  a  Moment. 

HE  had  the  reputation  of  being  fickle.  Per 
haps  he  deserved  it.  There  were  those  who 
said  so.  They  had  returned  his  ring.  And 
there  were  those  who  did  not  say  so.  They 
hoped  to  wear  his  ring,  for  he  was  rich,  hand 
some,  and  popular.  He  had  been  engaged  three 
times,  and  twice  it  had  been  broken  off.  True, 
it  was  the  girl  each  time,  but  then  "  no  girl 


282  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

could  be  expected  to  keep  her  engagement  with 
such  a  — "  and  then  the  gossiping  mothers 
would  elevate  their  eyebrows,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "Well,  he  would  never  have  my  daughter," 
just  as  if  there  were  the  ghost  of  a  chance  of 
his  asking  for  her. 

He  was  spending  the  summer  at  Bar  Harbour, 
and  had  just  run  over  to  the  Waumbek  in  Jef 
ferson  to  meet  an  old  friend  and  get  a  little 
change  of  air  for  a  fortnight  or  so.  There,  as 
everywhere,  he  became  a  leader,  organised  the 
coaching  party  for  the  Bethlehem  parade,  led 
the  cotillon,  and  was  the  moving  spirit  of  the 
place,  until  one  unlucky  day,  toward  the  close  of 
the  fortnight,  she  appeared. 

Things  changed.  He  who  before  had  been 
so  delightfully  general  in  his  attentions,  now 
became  pointedly  specific.  He  was  seen  no 
more  in  his  favourite  haunts  and  company.  He 
was  her  slave.  She  was  rather  tall,  with  a  fine 
figure  and  a  face  remarkable  not  so  much  for 
beauty,  which  it  had,  as  for  expression,  which 
it  had  perhaps  to  excess,  and  a  pair  of  jet 
black  eyes.  Her  eyes  simply  captured  him 
and  made  him  completely  forget  a  little  girl 
over  in  London,  except  when  every  other 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  283 

day  he  began  "My  darling,"  and  ended  "Your 
own ." 

But  she  knew  nothing  of  this.  And  he  —  he 
could  not  or  would  not  tell  her.  In  the  morn 
ing  they  played  tennis,  in  the  afternoon  they 
would  stroll  up  Mt.  Jefferson,  and  see  the  sun 
set  beneath  the  Franconian  hills,  away  across 
the  valley,  and  in  the  evening  they  would  chat 
on  the  pretty  colonial  piazza  and  watch  the 
moon  rise  over  the  Presidential  Range. 

His  two  weeks  lengthened  into  three,  then 
into  four,  and  four  into  six,  and  still  he  stayed. 
His  chum,  on  leaving,  warned  him. 

"  Pshaw,"  he  answered,  "  not  the  slightest 
danger ;  merely  a  Platonic  friendship.  Why, 
my  dear  fellow,  you  don't  suppose  that  it  could 
go  any  further  ?  " 

He  said  much  more ;  and  his  chum  went 
away  convinced  that  he  would  meet  her  on  the 
Majestic  as  true  as  ever.  But  his  words 
were  stronger  than  his  sense  of  duty,  and  his 
last  night  they  had  been  later  than  ever  before. 
The  next  morning  he  left,  and  she  wore  a  new 
ring. 

At  first  he  wrote  every  day,  and  then  every 
other  day.  His  foreign  correspondence  suffered. 


284      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

His  letters  followed  her  from  Jefferson  to  Phila 
delphia.  She  "  was  to  be  in  New  York  soon  on 
her  way  to  Boston,"  she  wrote. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  She  of  course  will  not,  no,  she 
must  not,  cannot  think  that  I  —  "  He  stopped 
and  thought  hard  for  some  minutes.  She  had 
every  right  to  think  almost  anything. 

As  the  time  came  nearer  for  the  Majestic 
to  sail,  his  letters  across  the  water  became  more 
frequent,  and  his  others  less.  He  was  getting 
worried. 

At  last  she  landed.  She  had  cabled  him  to 
meet  her.  He  had  seen  the  ship  reported,  and 
he  had  not  gone. 

"There  must  have  been  a  mistake,"  she  said, 
and  wired  him,  "  Start  for  Rochester  ten-thirty ; 
come." 

He  received  it  in  his  den  in  the  "Granada." 
He  had  hardly  read  it  when  the  maid  brought 
another. 

"  Why  have  you  not  written  ?  Leave  for 
Boston  ten-thirty-five.  Meet  me." 

It  was  now  half-past  nine.  Plenty  of  time  to 
catch  either  train.  Which  should  it  be  ?  He 
leaned  over  to  his  desk  and  took  out  two  photo 
graphs.  They  could  not  have  been  less  alike ; 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  285 

the  first,  a  stunning  girl,  evidently  very  dark 
with  a  striking  face,  and  eyes  a  bit  too  auda 
cious  ;  the  second  small,  evidently  a  blonde,  with 
a  calm,  sweet  face,  and  large,  appealing  eyes. 
He  looked  long  at  both  and  then  at  his  watch. 
Still  time.  Which,  which,  which,  went  whirling 
through  his  brain.  As  he  looked  at  one,  he  saw 
the  whole  past  summer  in  a  flash,  at  the  other, 
a  year's  close  intimacy  and  a  summer's  corre 
spondence.  Once  again  he  thought,  long  and 

hard,  and  determined  to  take  the  train  for 

Just  time.  Throwing  one  picture  into  the  fire, 
he  piled  his  traps  into  a  valise,  seized  a  hat,  and 
ran. 

PHILIP  BISSELL. 

The  Morningside. 

Girl  Correspondents. 

THERE  was  a  kick  on  the  door,  and  without 
further  regard  for  conventionality  my  friend 
Philebrown  entered.  Philly  should  have  lived 
in  Bluebeard  days,  when  the  manly  costume  was 
a  succession  of  bath-robe  effects,  his  favourite 
apparel  being  of  that  nature.  He  trailed  in  a 
yard  or  two  of  that  style  of  garment,  settled 


286  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

himself  before  the  fire,  and  having  arranged  his 
two  sweaters,  pensively  smoked  a  cigarette. 

I  kept  silence.  Philly  is  ductile,  but  he  pre 
fers  to  draw  out  himself,  as  it  were.  Questions 
at  best  are  vulgar  things,  unless  tactfully 
managed. 

"  I've  been  looking  over  my  letters,"  he 
burst  out ;  then  with  an  air  of  philosophic 
research  added,  in  a  perfectly  illogical  way, 
"  Girls  are  mighty  queer,  aren't  they  ? " 

"They  have  been  thought  so  by  some  men 
rather  well  up  in  that  sort  of  thing,  I  believe, 
—  there  was  Virgil  and  Shakespeare  and  —  " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  broke  in  Philly,  "but 
you  know  they  didn't  know  the  girls  I  know." 
This  was  such  an  overwhelming  argument  that 
I  forebore  to  resume  the  discussion.  I  merely 
drew  up  my  chair  near  to  Philly  and  the  fire, 
lighted  my  pipe  and  assumed  a  blandly  solicit 
ous  air,  which  I  flatter  myself  I  do  rather  well. 

"  Why  is  it  that  girls  like  to  write  to  a  fellow 
all  the  time  ?  "  he  continued.  "  You  do  some 
thing  for  them,  they  write  back  a  note  that 
seems  to  want  an  answer,  and  the  first  thing 
you  know  you  are  deep  in  a  regular  correspond 
ence.  I  don't  like  it,  —  that  is,  not  all  the  time." 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  287 

"There's  that  girl  I  met  in  the  mountains 
last  summer,"  he  said,  meditatively  gazing  into 
the  coals;  "terribly  nice  girl,  —  the  one  that 
wears  my  Glee  Club  pin,  you  know.  Got  a  letter 
from  her  to-night ;  want  to  hear  some  of  it  ? " 

"  Charmed,  Philly,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  I  guess  there  isn't  much  in  it  to  read, 
—  something  here  about  a  '  sensitive  conscience 
and  a  strong  body '  that  I  can't  understand. 
What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  Then  she  talks 
about  « heart-sickness,'  and  ends  up  in  the  usual 
way :  '  I  am  still  remembering  where  I  received 
a  certain  pin,  wearing  it  more  than  semi-occasion- 
ally,  and  often  —  well,  not  trying  to  forget  a 
certain  Amherst  student.'  Funny,  isn't  it  ? 

"  Here's  one  from  another  girl  I  know,  — 
says,  « Harold,  your  letters  are  such  a  comfort 
to  me  and  help  me,  so  be  sure  and  write  regu 
larly' —  never  saw  her  but  once.  I  answered 
and  told  her  that  father  kept  me  busy  mowing 
the  lawn  and  I  couldn't  find  time  for  much  cor 
respondence.  That's  the  only  thing  to  do  with 
such  girls. 

"  Here's  this  —  from  a  college  girl  I  know. 

"  '  DEAR  HAROLD  :  —  Do  write  me  one  of 
your  jolly,  lovely  letters  ;  they  are  so  funny. 


288  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

I  showed  the  last  one  to  my  roommate,  who 
said,  "  Isn't  that  perfectly  dear  !  "  So  you  see ' 
—  Oh,  Jove,  I  didn't  mean  to  read  that  —  " 

"  Quite  proper,  Philly,  my  boy.  It  is  fasci 
nating ;  pray  continue." 

"Then  there's  the  girl  who  insists  on  put 
ting  in  questions  that  fuss  a  fellow  awfully,  you 
know,  —  says,  '  Do  you  think  me  a  very  queer 
girl  ? '  '  I  am  a  strange  friend,  am  I  not  ? ' 
'We  all  say  some  things  we  ought  not,  what 
say  you  ? ' 

"  Now,  what  is  a  fellow  going  to  say  to  such 
things  ?  It  is  a  mighty  hard  thing  to  answer, 
I  tell  you.  The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to 
let  those  questions  go,  and  tell  her  how  sick 
your  dog  is,  or  how  badly  your  golf  stick  is 
broken ;  they  don't  really  want  answers,  it's 
their  nature  to  keep  their  pens  full  of  interro 
gation  points." 

"  Philly,"  said  I,  "you're  a  philosopher,  there's 
no  doubt  of  it/' 

"Well,"  said  Philly,  as  he  languidly  arose 
and  flipped  his  cigarette  into  the  fire,  "it  is 
hard  to  get  along  with  the  girls  who  want  you 
to  be  a  brother,  and  the  girls  who  tell  all  the 
family  secrets,  and  the  girls  who  are  heart- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  289 

sick,  and  the  girls  who  are  regular  sweethearts 
—  sometimes  I  wish  —  " 

"  No,  no,  Philly.  No,  you  don't  —  the  per 
sonal  equation,  Philly,  you  know  —  " 

"  Hum !  "  said  Philly,  as  he  slammed  the 
door. 

EMERY  B.  POTTLE. 
Amherst  Literary  Monthly. 

Glimpses. 

FROM  my  window  I  watch  men  making  bon 
fires  of  the  autumn  leaves.  They  are  burning 
my  summer.  A  pile  of  red  leaves  kindle,  and  a 
day  in  the  woods  is  gone.  A  relentless  shower 
of  yellow,  a  smouldering  flame,  a  puff  of  smoke 
— .that  means  a  close  day  of  mist-hidden  sun 
and  silver  fog.  A  crackle  of  crisp  brown  boughs, 
and  a  bicycle  trip  flares  away  in  an  instant.  So 
they  vanish  as  the  blue  smoke  rises  and  circles. 
Only  a  pile  of  sodden  gray  leaves  left,  too  wet 
to  burn,  —  the  rainy  days  are  mine  to  keep. 

M.  E.  c. 

THE  desk  was  very  large,  and  the  boy  perched 
up  beside  it  very  small.  His  head  was  bent 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

over  the  sheet  of  paper,  and  the  pencil  moved 
slowly  and  with  great  difficulty  over  its  surface. 
I  watched  the  brave  efforts  for  some  time  from 
my  seat  by  the  window,  then  walked  across  the 
room  and  leaned  over  the  tiny  student.  One 
chubby  hand  seized  mine,  and  pressed  it  against 
a  soft  cheek,  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  looked  con 
fidingly  up  at  me,  an  unconscious  sigh  came 
from  the  parted  lips,  and  a  baby  voice  said, 
sweetly,  "  Dear  cousin  Em'ly,  this  is  the  darned 
est  pencil  I  ever  struck." 

E.  B.  c. 

EVERY  morning,  as  I  pass  on  my  way  to  col 
lege,  she  stands  in  the  sunny  window  watering 
her  flowers.  I  have  never  seen  more  than  her 
head  and  arms,  because  the  bank  of  foliage, 
green  of  all  shades,  rises  about  to  her  shoulders. 
The  morning  sun  touches  the  soft  gray  hair, 
and  brings  into  clear  prominence,  against  the 
darkness  of  the  room  behind,  the  sweet  grave- 
ness,  almost  solemnity,  of  the  thin,  old  face. 
There  is  a  calm  preciseness  about  the  way  she 
raises  the  little  red  watering-pot  that  makes 
me  feel  as  if  the  flowers  were  not  living  things 
to  her,  but  a  part  of  the  day's  duty.  One  day 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  29! 

she  went  to  smell  a  big  geranium,  and  the  sun 
reflecting  in  the  brilliant  colour,  threw  a  sudden 
glow  over  her  pale  cheeks,  and  I  saw  when  she 
raised  her  head  that  her  face  wore  a  tremulous 
smile. 

A.    L.    J. 

Radcliffe  Magazine. 

A  Christmas  Dream* 

IT  was  such  an  impossible  dream.  She  knew 
perfectly  well  that  it  must  be  a  dream,  but  there 
was  something  about  it  that  made  it  so  real. 
At  first  she  thought  she  was  really  awake,  and 
that  there  was  some  one  standing  among  the 
curtains  at  the  window.  She  had  never  been 
afraid  in  her  life  and  she  reached  over  —  or  rather 
dreamed  she  did  —  and  pressed  the  electric  but 
ton.  As  the  light  sprang  up,  she  saw  that  the 
figure  at  the  window  was  Jack's,  and  Jack  was 
really  away  off  in  Africa,  so  it  was  quite  impos 
sible.  It  was  very  plainly  a  dream. 

Jack  was  standing  quite  still,  tugging  at  his 
riding-gloves.  It  was  remarkable  how  natural 
it  seemed,  except  that  people  don't  wear  khaki 
uniforms  and  pith  helmets  in  London  at  Christ- 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

mas  time.  Finally  he  said  :  "  I  suppose  I 
shouldn't  be  here,  you  know."  He  was  as  much 
confused  as  if  it  were  all  real. 

"  I  suppose  you  shouldn't,"  she  said,  laugh 
ing  a  little,  "  but  it  is  all  a  dream,  you  see,  and 
that  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Jack,  "of  course." 

He  came  forward  rather  uncertainly  and  laid 
his  gloves  on  the  footboard  of  the  bed. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "  I've  got 
something  to  tell  you,  Mildred,  something  rather 
queer,  I'm  afraid."  He  gave  his  head  a  little 
twist,  as  he  always  used  to  when  he  was  nervous. 

She  laughed  again.  "Is  it  a  story  ? "  she 
asked.  "  I  don't  remember  ever  hearing  a  dream 
story.  I  hope  it  will  be  entertaining." 

It  was  very  rude  of  him  not  to  smile,  even 
though  he  was  not  real.  He  stood  twisting  his 
pith  helmet  rather  awkwardly  in  his  hands,  look 
ing  at  it  so  seriously.  She  hoped  it  was  not 
going  to  turn  out  to  be  a  bad  dream. 

"  You  see,"  he  began,  "  I  belong  over  in 
Africa  by  rights.  By  all  natural  courses  I  should 
be  there  now.  It's  an  absurd  thing  for  a  man 
to  be  in  Matabele-land  one  hour,  and  in  London 
the  next,  isn't  it  ?  " 


CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  293 

"Oh,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  "they  do  all  sorts 
of  queer  things  in  dreams,  you  know." 

"  So  they  do,"  said  Jack,  frowning  into  his 
helmet. 

Through  the  window  a  faint  suggestion  of 
dawn  was  creeping.  It  was  almost  Christmas 
morning. 

"This  is  the  way  it  is,"  said  Jack.  "An 
hour  or  so  ago  I  was  in  the  bush  with  half  a 
company.  It  was  dark,  and  the  darkness  of  the 
bush  is  something  that  is  full  of  strange  things 
you  can't  imagine.  Some  of  the  men  were 
sleeping  behind  their  little  thorn  rampart,  and 
others  were  watching."  He  raised  his  eyes, 
and  looked  about  him  for  a  moment. 

"  They  are  there  now  —  sleeping  and  watch 
ing,  and  I  am  here,"  he  said. 

She  was  leaning  forward  now,  listening 
intently. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  be  plain,"  he  went 
on.  "  Outside  of  the  thorns  it  is  all  black,  and 
all  around  us  in  the  blackness  lie  sand  and  bush, 
and  two  regiments  of  Zulus.  When  the  day 
breaks  they  will  wake  up  and  begin  to  sing, 
and  their  white  shields  will  be  a  wide,  low  ring, 
that  will  stretch  north  and  south  and  east  and 


294      CAP  AND  GOWN  IN  PROSE 

west  without  a  gap.  That  will  be  our  Christ 
mas  morning."  She  shivered  a  little  as  he 
paused. 

Somewhere  a  clock  ticked  regularly. 

"When  it  is  light  enough,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  they  will  begin  to  move  forward,  singing  still, 
and  coming  faster  and  faster.  Presently  the 
air  will  be  humming  with  spears."  He  stopped, 
and  looked  up  for  a  moment. 

"That  is  all,"  he  said,  finally. 

"Oh,  Jack!"  she  cried,  regretfully,  "it  is  a 
bad  dream,  after  all." 

"  Of  course  it  is  a  dream,"  he  said.  "  If  it 
were  anything  else  I  would  not  be  here  to  say 
good-bye  to  you.  Perhaps  it  is  just  my  dream 
alone,  and  when  the  men  wake  me  at  dawn, 
I  may  be  the  only  one  to  remember.  But  you 
look  so  real  to  me,  Mildred,  almost  as  if  it  were 
no  dream  at  all,  that  I  wonder  whether  you  will 
not  remember,  too.  I  don't  know  how  I  can 
express  it  —  it  seems  so  strange."  He  paused 
as  if  at  a  loss  for  words.  "  Awhile  ago,"  he 
said,  "  I  dreamed  that  I  was  walking  in  Bel- 
gravia.  It  was  there  I  first  saw  you,  wasn't  it  ?  " 
She  nodded  silently.  "  It  seemed  good  to  be  in 
London  again,"  he  went  on,  "after  the  dirt  and 


CAP   AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE  295 

work  out  there  in  the  hot,  dangerous  thickets. 
It  struck  me  as  very  pleasant." 

The  dawn  was  grayer  at  the  windows. 

"Presently  I  came  to  your  house,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  knew  it  would  be  my  last  chance  to  see 
you,  even  in  a  dream."  He  turned  quickly,  and 
looked  toward  the  growing  light.  "  It's  day 
break  !  "  he  whispered.  "  Listen  !  "  No  sound 
but  the  clock  ticking  in  the  room. 

"  It  is  the  singing,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Do 
you  hear  it  ?  "  There  was  no  sound.  "  Good 
bye,"  he  said,  more  swiftly.  "  In  a  moment 
they  will  be  waking  me."  She  did  not  stir. 

"It  is  a  dream,"  she  kept  whispering  to  her 
self.  "  It  is  a  dream." 

"  I  have  come  so  far  for  one  word,"  he  said, 
almost  bitterly,  "  and  now  —  " 

She  threw  aside  the  quilted  covers,  and  ran 
forward. 

"  Jack !  Jack !  "  she  cried. 

The  room  was  empty.  She  felt  now  that  she 
was  awake,  but  a  strange,  dull  murmur,  like  the 
low  singing  of  hundreds  of  voices,  was  in  her 
ears.  Then,  suddenly,  it  was  gone,  and  she 
looked  slowly  toward  the  bed.  What  she  saw 
there  turned  her  pale  with  a  nameless  fear,  for 


296  CAP    AND    GOWN    IN    PROSE 

on  the  footboard    lay  two   stained  and  yellow 
riding-gloves. 

Outside    in  the   morning  air  the   Christmas 
chimes  were  ringing. 

Princeton  Tiger. 


THE    END. 


CONTRIBUTORS. 


Adams,  H.  M.,  185. 
Andrews,  E.  P.,  2. 

Barker,  George  Russell,  4. 
Barker,  John,  88. 
Barr,  Joseph  W.,  92. 
Bennis,  F.  V.,  26,  122. 
Bissell,  Philip,  281. 
Burling,  Fanny  Crawford,  247. 
Burrell,  David  de  F.,  164. 

Camp,  Samuel  G.,  134. 
Canby,  Henry  Seidel,  94,  168. 
Carleton,  Philip  Greenleaf,  97. 
Carryl,  Guy  Wetmore,  265. 
Clark,  C.  W.,  178. 
Coolidge,  H.  F.,  253. 

Duer,  Alice,  258. 

Easton,  William  Hastings,  44. 

Fisher,  Mary  H.,  237. 

Gallaher,  Grace  Margaret,  123. 
Gambrall,  Louisa  B.,  152. 
Goodwillie,  Arthur  Lawson,  261. 
Gowdy,  John,  85. 


Gregson,  Jr.,  John,  239. 

Hamilton,  J.  R.,  127. 
Holland,  Rupert  S.,  115. 
Hooker,  Richard,  62. 
Hopford,  J.  W.,  139. 
Huntress,  H.  P.,  78. 

Johnston,  C.  H.  L.,  193. 
Judkins,  Charles  Otis,  187,  252. 

Ketchum,  Arthur,  278. 

King,  Georgiana  Goddard,  72. 

Leonard,  J.,  208. 
Loeb,  Oscar,  190. 

Martin,  Harriet  Goodrich,  147. 

Mason,  Roy  M.,  53. 

Moulton,  Sherman  Roberts,  272. 

Oakman,  John  Saunders,  263. 

Parker,  J.  M.,  in. 
Pottle,  Emery  B.,  14,  285. 

Ray,  Maude  Louise,  50. 
Robbins,  Leonard  H.,  117. 


297 


298 


CONTRIBUTORS 


Rogers,  R.  T.,  58,  74. 

Seasongood,  Murray,  227. 
Snow,  Edwin,  224. 
Stahlnecker,  H.  Wilson,  80. 

Thompson,  John  A.,  48,  222,  231. 
Throop,  Lillian  S.,  166. 
Try  on,  James  Owen,  103. 


Truman,  Percival  Henry,  243. 
Van  Horn,  F.  M.,  195. 

Wales,  James  Albert,  35. 
Watson,  Thomas,  200. 
Wilder,  Florence  E.,  65. 
Wildman,  Marian  Warner,  270. 


INITIALS,   ETC. 


A.,  141. 
A.  A.,  182. 
A.  L.  J.,  290. 
E.  B.  C.,  289. 
E.  H.  B.,  199. 
E.  M.  T.,  246. 

E.  S.  S.,  275. 

F.  A.  L.,  104. 
H.,  220. 

H.  D.  G.,  158. 
H.  T.  P.,  183. 
I.  L.  V.,  214. 
J.  M.,  8. 
K.  E.  H.,  43- 
K.  M.  D.,  150. 
L.  C.  G.,  172. 


L.  S.  B.,  262. 

L.  V.  N.  M.,  163. 

M.  B.  M.,  274. 

M.  E.  C.,  290. 

"  Mem.  'oo,"  180. 

P.  B.,  107. 

P.  R.  C.,  156. 

T.,  233. 

W.,  205. 

Unsigned,  i,  7,  n,  13,  17,  20,  23, 
29.  3°.  39.  4o,  41,  57.  6l>  67. 
69,  71,  88,  101,  105,  no,  129, 
*32,  i33>  !37>  142,  144,  i5°. 

151,     l6l,     175,     177,    2O4,    212, 
217,  235,  236,  251,  258,  291. 


RETURN 
TO— ^ 


MAIN  CIRCULATION 


ALL  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  RECALL 
RENEW  BOOKS  BY  CALLING  642-3405 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


REC.C1RC.  MM  2  3  1995 


FORM  NO.  DD6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


•387599 


n 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


